


And My Kingdom as Great

by Sarai of Umardelin (anissa7118)



Series: Teach Me How to Fight, I'll Show You How to Win [4]
Category: Labyrinth (1986)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-11
Updated: 2018-08-20
Packaged: 2018-11-30 23:06:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 41
Words: 144,306
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11473554
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/anissa7118/pseuds/Sarai%20of%20Umardelin
Summary: Sarah and Jareth explore the ramifications of her last run in Umardelin's Labyrinth. Work/life balance is even more important to a social worker when your unexpected second job is up-and-coming Queen of the Unmastered. Welcome to the wider world of the Fae, which isn't just confined to the Underground - much to Sarah's dismay.





	1. One Extreme to Another

Sarah opened her eyes to see sun-warmed stone: the smoothly polished walls of her royal bedroom in the castle. The light pouring in looked like noon, which meant – she did a few quick mental calculations – it was probably three o’clock in the morning in New York. She was grateful for that, despite the occasional feeling of jet lag. If not for the weird way time moved between realms, she’d never get any _sleep_.

The reason for her sleeplessness was already awake and out of her bed; Sarah ran a hand along the sheets and found them cool. He’d been up for a while, then. That allowed her to rise, wash up, and dress at her leisure. A few days hadn’t cooled Jareth’s ardor at all, and she found she couldn’t change clothes in his presence without capturing his attention. Which was gratifying, but made it hard to get things done.

Jareth had told her she could visit the kitchens any time, for a meal or a snack. She headed there now, steeling herself for the sight of a kitchen run by goblins and hoping it wouldn’t put her off her food.

To her surprise, there were only two goblins among the cooking staff, and they were scullions, chanting “Lick,  _then_ wash” as they cleaned the pots. The rest … there were a couple of human-sized fae with very large eyes and black-tipped hair bustling about, which she took for under-chefs. And a couple of dwarfs like Hoggle who were doing much the same. There was also one she could swear was human – who might actually be, if the stories about fairy rings were true.

In charge of them all was a chef who looked like a deer crossed with a human. His head was a deer’s, with a shorter muzzle capable of human speech, as he called out orders to his staff. Sarah first saw him from the back, and noticed that while his broad shoulders were like a man’s, a strip of fur ran down his spine from his head to a tail like she’d seen on many deer back home. His legs were the hind legs of a deer, slightly modified to let him stand upright, and the extra length of those hocks made him almost nine feet tall.

One of the dwarfs said something in another language, and the chef turned toward Sarah. His torso was almost human, except that his skin was the color of a deer’s fur. Those antlers looked wickedly sharp, and she might have been afraid. But he was wearing a chef’s apron that  _had_ to have come from Above, because it read ‘Kiss the Cook … But Don’t Squeeze the Buns!’ She couldn’t help chuckling at that.

The chef chuckled, too. “My wife brought it Under for me,” he said in a deep voice. “Now, how can we help you, Queen Sarai?”

“Just something small for breakfast,” she replied. “I don’t want to put you to trouble.”

He took a step toward her and lowered his head slightly, which made her notice all those ivory antler points. His voice, though, was amiable. “Nonsense. ‘Breakfast’ is exactly the sort of thing we’re here for, so it’s no trouble at all. Alan, hot tea and honeycakes for our lady.”

She ended up being pressed to a seat at the kitchen table and plied with all sorts of delicious tidbits, until Sarah pleaded an over-full stomach. They only let her leave with a promise to return when she had more time. Despite the deliciousness of the tea and cakes, Sarah missed coffee, and resolved to ask Jareth about getting it here. Surely in a realm of magic, coffee beans wouldn’t be too much trouble.

She ambled toward the throne room looking for Jareth. He was there, lounging sideways on his throne with his chin propped in one hand. Before him were a couple of the fairies she’d seen when she arrived in the Labyrinth the first time, arguing in piping voices. When one darted at the other, Jareth smacked his swagger stick against the sole of his boot loudly. “Enough. If you cannot be civil to one another long enough to have your case judged, then we will not waste our time with you. The flower patch in debate is now property of the Crown, and  _both_ of you are banned from it.”

Loud squeaks of protest, and Sarah heard goblin giggling from the various quarters of the room. Jareth only glared. “Our judgment is  _final_ . You will both have to find new lodgings within the fortnight. I would suggest you find them  _far_ from one another. Case dismissed.”

The two little fairies – still complaining bitterly at each other – fluttered out, and Jareth caught sight of her. “Ah, Sarai,” he said warmly. “Morning Court is adjourned. I have business with our Champion.” As one, the assembled fae turned and bowed or bobbed or curtseyed to her, and Sarah curtseyed back.

Jareth rose, striding through the throng of his people, and gave her a quick kiss when he reached her side. “It is still early Above,” he murmured. “Surely you do not need to leave?”

“Not yet,” she said, indulging in a brief hug as they left the room. Jareth kept his arm draped around her shoulder. “It’s a little strange to see you being, well, a king. I missed that the first time around.”

Jareth smiled. “You missed a great deal. I cannot brood  _all_ day, or my stewards would begin to get the idea that they run this kingdom.”

“Speaking of staff, do you know your chef is cooking your meals while naked except for an apron?” Sarah asked mischievously. “I hope you stay on his good side, or I’m afraid to wonder just how he stirs the punch.”

That won a laugh from him. “I am very good to my staff, Sarah. The chef – Beldych – gets a week off in the winter when his antlers drop, because it makes him very grumpy. And a month off in the fall during the rut.”

“The rut…” Sarah had assumed he was a fae that happened to look like a deer, but apparently he had more wild instincts than she expected.

“Beldych is a creature born of magic. He is a blend of man and stag, one of a kind, unlike many of my servants which are drawn from the many faerie races. Didymus is the same sort of creature. The difference is that Didymus takes his uniqueness as cause for celibacy, and Beldych is married to my head housekeeper. She happens to be human, and their children are mostly so, except for having tails and in the case of the eldest son, antlers.”

Sarah sighed. “There’s so much to get used to around here. I never guessed that Didymus was one of a kind. But I did have a question for you…”

The rest of his afternoon – and her early morning – were spent planning out the possibility of growing coffee in Umardelin. Hoggle, who was after all the Royal Gardener, was consulted on the matter, and in his typical pessimistic fashion declared “Probably won’t grow, if’n it does it won’t fruit, if’n it fruits an’ we can harvest it, it might spoil. And if’n we can get it all harvested and dried and roasted and everything, it probably won’t taste right.”

“Well, damn,” Sarah sighed.

“I never said we wouldn’t _try_ it,” Hoggle replied, and Jareth rolled his eyes where the dwarf couldn’t see him. They had it all sorted out by the time Sarah needed to head home, and Jareth went with her Above so that he could obtain some coffee plants.

“How are you planning on paying for them, anyway?” she asked, brushing her hair in her own bedroom. “The whole ‘fairy gold’ thing doesn’t work anymore, since nobody takes gold coins.”

“And you think your ‘credit card’ system is not even more easily fooled than coins which return to their purse?” Jareth asked, and kissed the top of her head before going out. Sarah left after him, but not to work. It was Saturday, and she had errands to run before meeting Toby at the train station. One of those errands was picking up a cake for him; his birthday was mid-week, so she couldn’t make it, hence this weekend trip. He would stay overnight with her Saturday and go home Sunday night. Which meant Jareth had to survive a couple days without her, which was probably part of why he’d been so insistent last night.

She still had to figure out what she was going to tell her family about him, and when. They’d sketched out the bare bones of a how-we-met story that would work, and Sarah felt a little more comfortable having him Above now that she knew he could pass for human at will. Though it was still damned  _weird_ to see Jareth without his trademark Goblin King glitter and majesty. Not to mention the eyebrows. If he didn’t look like he was giving the rest of the world a sardonic expression, he didn’t look like himself.

Sarah dropped the cake off at the apartment and went back out to kill a little time before meeting Toby. She headed for her favorite cafe, and noticed a handful of kids hanging around outside the club further down the block. It wouldn’t be open for hours yet, but maybe they were waiting for some special event. Maybe they even worked there – she remembered seeing this group a few times before, and her definition of ‘kids’ now included anyone under twenty-five, which was sometimes a cause for chagrin. She was only twenty-nine herself, for God’s sake, but late teens and early twenty-somethings were just so  _immature_ sometimes. Or maybe that was just the ones she knew.

This group was what she’d heard referred to as ‘scene kids’. They looked to her like goths with a broader color palette; Sarah herself had been goth in high school, for a while. She hadn’t quite fit in with that clique though. The aesthetic appealed, but the music was only ‘okay’ in her book, and she’d never been quite as morbid as the others in her school. Then again, it was hard to be terribly gloomy when an ‘imaginary’ Goblin King haunted your dreams…

Chuckling at her own youth, Sarah went into the cafe and got some coffee and panini. She ate outside despite the crispness of the air, and the kids from down the block eventually wandered past as she was nearly finished. Sarah paid them little mind; they were quiet and respectful of other pedestrians. And in New York, a group of mixed-race kids who dressed like some kind of Victorian gypsies while dyeing their hair all shades of the rainbow just wasn’t unusual enough to attract attention.

She  _did_ notice when one of them stopped near her. The tallest, a young black man with close-cropped maroon hair and a gold ring through his eyebrow, watched protectively as a slender girl approached Sarah. This little waif wore all black, the better to accentuate her pale skin and extraordinary hair. It fell halfway down her back and was extravagantly dyed with mingled shades of green, from emerald to forest with streaks a bright new-leaf shade. Sarah thought it must’ve been expensive as hell and a bitch to keep up with, but the effect was gorgeous.

The girl wore round mirrored sunglasses and dark plum lipstick, but her voice was perfectly polite. “Excuse me, do you happen to have a light?” she asked.

Why she picked Sarah was a question for another day, but as it so happened, Sarah was a social smoker. Her lighter was in her pocket, and she had to stand up to reach it. “Sure,” she said, getting up. Living in the city, she’d learned never to hand over  _anything_ of hers, so she held the lighter out as the girl took out a clove and slipped it between her lips. Sarah flicked the lighter on, and the girl bent to the flame, her hand cupped around Sarah’s but studiously not touching her.

Two strange things happened at once. The key around Sarah’s neck pulsed with brief warmth, which she at first took to mean that Jareth was thinking of her. Or the Labyrinth itself was. The second strangeness canceled that out.

The girl glanced up at her as she drew away from the light, her eyes visible behind the mirrored lenses. And those eyes … were not human. Large, dark golden irises, almost no white, and the pupils were  _rectangular_ and horizontal. Like the eyes of a horse or a goat. Sarah could only blink while the girl said, “Thank you,” and strolled away casually.

Now that she looked again, the group all looked just a tiny bit  _off_ . The tall young man was just a little too long in the leg for his proportions, one of the others had eyes spaced just a little too widely. And despite the typical scene kid fondness for piercings, none of these had any kind of steel on them. Their piercings were silver or gold.  _Oh my God, they’re fae. There are fae in New York and I’ve seen them for_ _**months** _ _. What the hell? _

The wild thought of chasing after them occurred to her, but her good sense quickly vetoed that. She had no idea what kind of fae they were, what they wanted, or what they could do. She also didn’t know why the girl had revealed herself. Was it just acknowledgment, that she could sense fae magic around Sarah? Or was it some kind of threat? Little as she liked to be dependent on  _ anyone _ , she’d have to ask Jareth.

At least she knew where the kids hung out, well enough to find them again as long as they weren’t actively hiding from her. And she had the feeling that if they were,  _ Jareth _ could find them regardless.

 

…

 

Toby came off the train with his overnight bag slung over his shoulder, scanning the crowd for her. He caught sight of Sarah as she moved toward him, and his grin lit up like the dawn. “Hey, Sare!” he called, and hurried to wrap her up in a big hug. In front of his friends, he might be too cool for hugs from family, but here he was only too happy to see her.

Sarah gave an exaggerated gasp and pretended to stagger. “Easy, Tobe!” she laughed. “I swear, you get bigger every time I see you. What’s Karen feeding you, Miracle Grow?” The jokes helped her hide the pang in her heart. He was now about the age she’d been, when she’d … well, when she’d wished him away. Luckily for them both, Toby was a bit less dramatic. And  _ he _ didn’t have a pesky younger sibling.

As they headed for the subway and the gallery, he chattered happily about his art classes, and the girl he was trying to convince to go out with him, and Karen’s latest attempt to be the next Martha Stewart. “Dad said absolutely positively  _ no _ sous-vide machine for Christmas,” Toby laughed.

“What about that super-secret project of yours?” Sarah asked while they both swayed with the motion of the subway car. Last time she’d been home, he had a big canvas in his room, carefully draped to foil prying eyes. That was only a month ago.

Toby shook his head. “Nope, still secret. You’ll see it when it’s done.”

“Not even a hint?” she wheedled, curious. Toby had never been quite so secretive about his works-in-progress, but this was the first time he’d done a sizable watercolor, and she wanted to see it.

“Well … okay. Since it’s you.” Toby leaned toward her and whispered in her ear, in tones of strictest confidence, “I used paint.”

“Tobe!” she laughed, and punched his shoulder.

He wasn’t going to give in, though, and changed the subject instead. “Hey, you remember those two guys who were giving me a hard time?”

Sarah growled. Two of the seniors had decided to make Toby’s life hell, picking on him about his interest in art and making snide remarks implying he was gay. Which even Toby said wasn’t a  _ bad _ thing, it just wasn’t true. “I swear, if Dad or Karen doesn’t go to the administration and sort that shi – I mean, that crap out,  _ I’ll _ do it.”

“Nah, you already fixed it,” Toby laughed. “Y’know I keep that photo of us at Six Flags in my locker, right? Well, Carl saw it and started trying to give me grief. Wanted to know who the girl is, if I’d photoshopped it, ‘cause she’s way too hot for me.” He wrinkled his nose.

She just rolled her eyes. “Oh, great.”

“So I told him that was my sister, and showed him the pics in my phone to back it up. And Rafe and Laquanda were nearby, so they backed me up too. And Laquanda told Carl you’d kick his ass if he didn’t shut his stupid mouth, because she’d seen you do it before. And Rafe said you were a total MILF except you didn’t have kids.” Toby blushed. “Uh, that means, well … never mind.”

“I know what a MILF is, Toby,” Sarah said, managing not to snicker. “Tell Rafe I said thanks. So they’re gonna leave you alone because you have a hot sister?”

“A hot butt-kicking sister,” Toby replied. “Anyway, so what’s new in your life, Sare?”

That was a question she’d just as soon not answer. Luckily, they arrived at their stop, which was enough to stall him. Toby  _ really _ wanted to see this exhibit, and she trailed after him as he drank in each painting. Afterwards at Reddi-Arts, she splurged on the fancy sable-hair brushes he coveted, and Toby spent his allowance on paints.

Heading back to the subway after they stopped to pick up Chinese, he said, “I notice you never answered me about what’s new in your life. Got a new boyfriend?”

“Toby,” Sarah sighed, rolling her eyes. 

“Girlfriend?” he asked, with a comical waggle of his brows. 

She elbowed him. “Not since college. Too much drama, there. Not that guys aren’t dramatic, but it’s a whole lot easier to deal with guy-drama. Okay, fine, Mr. Nosy. Yes, there  _ is _ a new guy in my life. Kinda new. I’ve known him for a while. Us being … well, us dating, that part’s new.”

“Okay,” Toby said, much more casual than he usually was when discussing Sarah’s boyfriends. He proved it a lie in the next breath by saying, “I’m gonna need his full name, date of birth, and social security number. Once the background check’s complete he can turn in his application and interview for the job.”

“ _Toby!”_ Sarah yelped, but there was laughter in it. He’d never made a secret of disliking Barton, or anyone else she’d dated. Most of those were brief, anyway. “Toby, not even Dad is that paranoid. Calm down. I like this one – God help me.”

“Well you defended him, so that’s kind of a first,” Toby remarked. She elbowed him again. “When do I meet the guy? Also, name? Or is he like a CIA agent or something?”

“I’m afraid you won’t be meeting Mr. Kingsley any time soon,” Sarah said. “He travels a lot. It’s gonna be hard enough making it work with just the two of us. I don’t want to intrude on my time with my favorite brother.”

“I’m your only brother,” he said automatically. And just when Sarah was congratulating herself on getting good at this, Toby sighed. “I just really wish I could meet the guy.”

“Don’t say that!” she said, too hastily. Sarah tried to backtrack; it should only work if _she_ said it, anyway. All that ‘certain powers’ business. “I’m sure you’ll meet him eventually, Tobe, but this is still kinda early days. And … it’s gonna be difficult with scheduling. I promise you, he’s not a creep or an asshole. Well, just enough of an asshole to keep things interesting.”

“Yeah, he’s gotta be on your level,” Toby interjected, and for that she chipped his ankle.

“Besides, you’ll like him. He’s _definitely_ not normal.” Sarah congratulated herself on that timing; they’d ridden the rest of the way back to her building, and getting indoors with packages and food required concentration enough that he couldn’t immediately question her.

She managed, for the rest of the weekend, to keep leading Toby away from the topic of what he quickly dubbed “The Mysterious Mr. Kingsley.” She didn’t want to say Jareth’s first name unless it sparked a memory. But Sarah was under no illusions; Toby wasn’t giving up, and that meant that sooner or later she’d have to introduce him.

Sunday afternoon, Sarah went back to the house with Toby, and they all enjoyed a nice sit-down family dinner. To her great relief, Toby didn’t mention her new boyfriend to Dad or Karen, and for once the latter wasn’t fretting about her becoming an old maid. Instead she was able to tell them an edited version of Lucy’s adventures, hyping up the little girl’s surprising return just when everyone thought the worst.

“I always knew you were going to change people’s lives for the better,” Karen said with a smile. Sarah blushed a little; her relationship with her stepmother had often been stormy, but she couldn’t deny that Karen loved her. Or that, once she’d grown up enough to see such things, Karen had been more a mother to her than Linda ever was.

Sarah rode the late train home Sunday night and fell into bed exhausted. Tomorrow the work week started all over again.

 

…

 


	2. Than We Ever Dreamed

_  
_

What with new cases and everything else, she didn’t see Jareth again until the middle of the week. Sarah had come home late and sat down just to rest before making dinner, only to wake up to someone tugging her hair. She blinked muzzily, and looked up into the face of the tiny goblin that had leapt to her shoulder on her first foray into Umardelin as its queen.

“Wakey-wakey, yer queeniness!” it chirped. This particular goblin looked like a combination of squirrel, miniature monkey, and bird – that last might’ve just been the nose, which was decidedly beaky. A long nose necessitated the long tufted tail, for balance. It perched on her shoulder and tugged gently at her hair once again. “Kingy sez youse should come down an’ see ‘im. You comin’?”

There were things she needed to ask him … and since time ran differently, she’d get more sleep Underground. “I’ll come,” she said, and got up. The goblin bounced onto the back of the sofa and scampered down to her room; the mirror was the easiest way to slip back and forth. By the time Sarah got into the room, the goblin was perched on the mirror frame.

Sarah noticed that it was watching her with lively curiosity, and felt a little odd thinking of what she _knew_ was a sentient creature as ‘it’. “What’s your name?” she asked.

The goblin froze. “Me, yer royalestness?” it squeaked.

“Yes,” Sarah replied. “You’re not in trouble. I just want to know what I should call you.”

“Neesk, yer majestickiness,” it said, and bowed.

“Thank you for coming to get me, Neesk,” Sarah replied. “And ‘Queen Sarai’ will do.”

A touch of the key at her neck, and Neesk jumped back to her shoulder as the room around them changed. Now she was in her suite at the castle, and the reflection in the mirror was her apartment. Sarah went to the door and opened it for Neesk, still riding her shoulder, and when it – he? – didn’t jump down, she shrugged lightly. “I need to change clothes, and I’d like privacy,” she said. “Let the king know I’m here, please.”

“Sure, yer highn– I mean, Queen Sarai!” Neesk jumped down and bounded away.

Sarah chose a simple gown of impossibly soft wool, dyed in ombre blues, and went to find Jareth. He met her on the stairs and enfolded her in his embrace. She could feel, now, the energy pouring into her from him, from the Labyrinth itself, and she welcomed it. It was rest and ease and strength and health, and she bowed her head to his collar with a sigh of relief.

“Sweetling, come to me when you are weary,” Jareth said, nuzzling the crown of her head. “Umardelin is a spring from which you can draw to renew yourself. I promise I shall not make _too_ many demands upon your time.” She could feel his smile against her hair.

“Now that I’m not exhausted, I might make demands on yours,” she teased, tipping her face up for a kiss. Jareth beamed at her in open delight, and she knew again that her choice had been right. This was home – _he_ was home, weird as that thought was.

“Come, I arranged for us to dine,” he said, and Sarah let herself be swept away to another sumptuous feast. If she hadn’t come down here, she would’ve forgotten to eat again, something she did more often than she should when she was that tired. If not for that, she might protest the richness of the food, but as it was, she didn’t think she was in any danger of getting overweight. _I just can’t eat like this_ _ **all**_ _the time,_ she reminded herself, and helped herself to a second serving of roast.

Jareth ate more lightly, but smiled at her indulgence. She mock-glared at him, and muttered, “Shut up. It’s been a long day.”

“I said nothing, Sarai. Nor would I. It is good to see you remembering to take care of yourself. There have been times when I worried about your tendency to forget to eat.”

The worst had been in college, when she’d just been juggling too many things at once, and sometimes her roommates had had to pester her to eat. Sometimes she’d just been too damned tired to make dinner, planning to grab coffee and a pastry the next morning. And like as not, forget the pastry. It wasn’t healthy, and Sarah knew it, but she just got so damned busy sometimes. “Yeah, well, I can’t always pig out when I’m here,” she teased. “I don’t want to go over-indulging too often.”

“As if your weight concerns me, beyond the worry that you may become too thin,” Jareth scoffed. “If you ever reach the point where we have to reinforce the floors, I’ll consider it an issue. But I highly doubt that. You tend to fret away too much of what you take in.”

That earned him a smile, for knowing her so well. It was strange to realize how much he knew of her little habits, when most of their relationship had just been dreams. “Watch it about that reinforcing the floors thing,” she said with a chuckle.

“How are Allison and young Lucy?” he asked, to redirect her.

“Alli insists that I saved Lucy somehow, and I can’t get her to refute it,” Sarah said. The first time she’d seen the girl afterwards, Alli had hugged her tight for several minutes, muttering tearful thank-yous all the while. “At least I managed to get her to agree not to mention it. She’s being a model sister, now. And Lucy’s fine. It was just another day, to her. Kids that age have imaginary adventures all the time.”

“More older sisters ought to have their siblings kidnapped. It tends to bring about an improvement in temper,” Jareth opined, and Sarah kicked him under the table. Gently, though, and he laughed.

“There was something I wanted to ask you about,” she said, as their plates were cleared away and a cake brought in. “There are fae Aboveground, too. What do you know about them?”

That gave him pause, and he looked at her for a long moment. “What makes you state it so?”

So she told him about the green-haired girl. Jareth sat with his chin in his hands, a scowl of concentration on his face. “Hmm. It could be a threat, but I would have expected something more dramatic. Perhaps it was mere curiosity, wondering why a human bore such a powerful fae talisman.

“There are fae who choose to live Above, yes. Mostly the young, the weak, or the dispossessed. None of them are a match for me, which is likely why I have never encountered them. But then, they have no strong ties to the Underground, and can move more freely in your world than I.”

He took her hand and kissed it. “Forgive me, Sarah. I have been remiss. I should have cloaked the key to the kingdom from fae sight as well as human. I had no idea that any of my kind would live in so thoroughly human a city as New York. We are normally drawn to places where we can touch the life-pulse of nature.”

“There’s Central Park,” she reminded him. “It’s wild enough that there are coyotes moving in. And it’s all right. Just shield it now.”

“The girl who spoke to you knows you wear it,” he replied. “She and her set will see that it is shielded, and therefore know you either have the magic to do that, or know someone who does. Be careful, Sarah. And if they approach you again, touch the key and speak my name. I shall make an impression they will not soon forget.”

“You’re so cute when you’re protective,” Sarah teased. “This _is_ the man who almost killed me with pitfalls when I was fifteen, being all nervous now.”

Jareth did not rise to the bait. “If they took you prisoner, they could tap into Umardelin’s power with the key. It might well kill them for such presumption, but they may not know that. And they may believe they can hold you hostage against me. A horde of goblins would change their minds swiftly.”

“I really don’t think it was a threat, Jareth,” Sarah said, surprised to find herself defending the strange fae. She had developed a good sense of character in her career, though, and that slim girl had seemed almost exaggeratedly polite.

“Still. We fae are selfish. Trust nothing another fae offers you, for surely it will benefit them more than you. For that reason, I am not comfortable that these urban fae know you.”

Sarah couldn’t help tweaking him a little on that. “So should I be wary of _your_ offers? Or are you the one altruistic fae in all the world?”

Jareth grinned. “Ah, my Sarah, I am clearly getting the better end of our deal. I have _you_ , and my curse is broken. Whereas you have only magic, a kingdom, and a devastatingly handsome king who adores you.”

“Woe is me,” she said in deadpan tones, and they shared a laugh that ended in a kiss.

Once they drew away, Jareth spoke again, in a curiously hesitant tone. “There is something I needed to discuss with you as well. We have a great deal of planning ahead of us. I know you are in no hurry, but certain things _must_ be settled, and soon. Your coronation is among them.”

“Jareth, I am not quite ready to put on a crown and rule,” she protested. “It hasn’t even been a week yet!”

“Then we need to do something else, to make certain the word gets out amongst the fae that you are here to stay,” he told her. “I would propose we host a ball, or more correctly, _you_ host it. Call it the Champion’s Ball, for you are the only one to defeat the Labyrinth twice. The kings and queens will not come, but we will have curious guests enough, and they will take tales back to their elders. It will buy us some time to plan your coronation. Speaking of which, we will not need to plan that alone. My parents will help us.”

For a long moment, Sarah could only blink. “This is really going to happen, isn’t it?”

“Yes,” he said simply.

She let out a sigh and put her head down on the table, resisting the urge to bang her forehead against the solid wood. “Jareth, until last week the biggest thing I had to worry about was making sure my brother doesn’t decide to run away and join an artists’ commune or something. And now I have to be Queen. I need to get a handle on it. And your parents … holy God. I never really thought about meeting your family. This is already making my head hurt.”

Jareth rubbed the back of her neck, but kept silent. Sarah sighed again. “I could’ve handled this better at eighteen.”

“Yes, well, neither of us was quite ready then,” Jareth said.

“Yeah. Ironic, that,” she muttered, blushing a little.

“Oh, we were both quite ready to have a lover who equaled our passion,” Jareth said, smirking. “My sweet, sweet Sarah. You were and are and always will be _such_ a delight.”

Keeping her face buried in her folded arms, Sarah shot back, “Yeah, you weren’t half bad yourself, Your Majesty.”

“I would prove that I am far from ‘not half bad’, but we ought to discuss the things we’re avoiding,” Jareth sighed. “My family, and yours. My parents are on their way here, and will arrive in a fortnight or so. Perhaps not in time for the Champion’s Ball, but for your coronation, certainly.”

Sarah sat bolt upright and stared at him. “They’re already on their way?! Shit, Jareth!”

“Relax. My mother will adore you. My father is still trying to convince me to leave Umardelin and come home. I am counting on you to help me show him what this place can be, and that it is more than just a curse.”

“Well, about that.” She sighed, and tucked a lock of hair behind her ear, knowing he wasn’t going to enjoy her next suggestion. The entire castle had a distinctly bachelor air of neglect about it. Their own quarters were well maintained, of course, but the rest … it was the realm of goblins. “If you want to impress your father, we need to get this place cleaned up. And we have to do something about that throne room.”

“What of it?” Jareth bristled. “I can set the goblins to cleaning all the corridors and rooms, but what of my throne room?”

“Jareth, it’s a sty,” Sarah said in some exasperation. “Chicken feathers, discarded goblin clothes, and half-eaten food everywhere. We have to let the goblins be goblins, I know, but that _can’t_ be your official throne room. There’s a vulture nesting in your crown!”

“Mathilda has nested there for a hundred and sixty years!” Jareth protested.

“ _Jareth_ , seriously?” Sarah asked. “Because _that_ shows your respect and dedication to your kingdom.”

He huffed. “Honestly, that crown doesn’t fit. We may as well let her have it, and design a new one.”

Seeing his stubbornness, Sarah sighed. “You know what, that’s a good idea. We’ll design a new throne room, too. Call it the official audience chamber. The goblins and the damn vulture can have their audience room.”

“Speak not so of Mathilda,” Jareth scolded.

“It’s a vulture,” Sarah argued.

“ _She_ is a vulture, yes, and quite a bit your senior. A little respect is due. Besides, she is better company than the goblins, many days. And her presence ensures that the half-eaten food you mentioned doesn’t go to waste. Nor do any rats the goblins miss.”

Sarah just rested her head in her hands. “Okay, you can keep your man cave, all right? But we’re gonna have to refit something fancier for highborn guests.”

“I can see the sense in that,” he said. “The castle tends to reconfigure itself to runners. It should not be any trouble to arrange such a room. I suppose you want marble floors and alabaster columns and lovely tapestries?”

She let another sigh escape her. “Let’s put it this way. If you had the choice of what you’d want – what you’d _want_ , Jareth, if you weren’t in a kingdom of goblins – what would you pick?”

A long pause, and he finally admitted, “I … no longer know. I have been here too long, Sarah. I know what will please the highborn. And I will be certain to choose colors that flatter us both.”

“I don’t care what will please them, I care what will please _us_ first. So I guess you’d better start thinking about what will make you happy.” She smiled at him then. “This is _our_ kingdom. I draw the line at unswept floors and nesting carrion birds, but as long as it’s presentable, figure out what you want and we’ll go from there. As you said, we’re not leaving. Might as well be comfortable.”

Jareth grinned, and tousled her hair. “I am minded to set emeralds in my crown, Sarai. To echo the fire in your eyes. From there, we can sort out the rest.”

She shrugged. “I guess we’re both gonna have to figure this out. I’ve never done anything like this, and I get the feeling you’ve been forced to _survive_ Umardelin more than rule it. So it’ll be new for both of us.”

“So it shall,” Jareth said. “I will commission tapestries commemorating your runs. And some of my own deeds, and those of the goblins that are fit to display.”

“Don’t make over-much of me,” she chided.

“Why not? It is you who broke the curse. Besides, you want me to surround myself with things that make me happy. _You_ make me happy.”

She kissed his cheek for that. “Yeah, but I’m also the girl from Haverstraw who wished her brother away when I was fifteen. I’m not perfect.”

“Nor am I. Everyone knows I was cursed to rule here, and why. We can hide ourselves away in shame, or stand proud of who we’ve become and how we’ve transcended our mistakes. And I, for one, am damned proud of you.”

“All right, all right, I’m convinced,” she said at last. “But I get final approval on the tapestry designs, okay?”

“As you wish,” Jareth told her. “Now, when are you taking me to meet your family?”

 

…

 


	3. Bewitched, Bothered, and Bewildered

As it turned out, it was a week later, and Toby had come up to the city again. He’d had other plans, but when Sarah offered to introduce him to Mr. Kingsley, he ditched his friends and the movie he hadn’t really wanted to see.

Sarah was hoping she could keep things calm, but the moment Toby got off the train and saw her, he came to a sudden halt. Jareth was standing beside her, passing for human, and yet Toby still stared piercingly at him. “Mr. Kingsley?” he said, his tone suspicious.

“You may call me Jareth,” he said, and offered Toby his hand.

He shook, and turned that wary gaze on Sarah. “I remember him from somewhere.”

“Nah,” Sarah said, but Jareth had his own ideas.

“I met you once, when you were very young,” Jareth said. “I’m surprised you remember me at all. It is quite an honor to see you again, Toby.”

_ Oh, God, no, _ Sarah thought.  _ I did  _ _**not** _ _ want to do this again, not this quickly. _ She jabbed an elbow into Jareth’s side and hurried them both to a waiting cab. The last thing she needed was Toby getting all suspicious on the subway.

Her brother’s questions were growing pointed, and Jareth’s answers had a certain droll amusement, so she was  _ very _ glad to get both of them back to her building. “All right, you two,” she snapped as she unlocked her door. “Tobe, it’s not your job to vet my dates. Jareth, he’s my brother, settle down.”

“There is something majorly shady going on,” Toby announced. “Sarah, are you _really_ dating one of our old babysitters? Because that’s twisted.”

She could only squeak in protest, thinking,  _ You have no idea _ . But then Jareth stepped through and closed the door behind them all, saying, “Perhaps this will jog your memory.”

His glamour melted away, and the Goblin King stood revealed in all his finery. Toby’s jaw dropped.

Anything either of them could say was drowned out by Sarah’s indignant yelp, and then she snatched a cushion off the couch and whacked Jareth in the chest as hard as she could with it. The futile rage at his jumping ahead without her okay would allow nothing less. “Goddammit, Jareth, you melodramatic grandstanding asshole! We were _not_ going to do it this way! _This is not what you and I agreed to!_ It’s not safe for him _or_ the two of us to just _drop_ it on him; we _discussed_ this! ”

Jareth’s majestic reveal was quite spoiled by that, and he fended off the second strike of the pillow. “Sarah, he – ow! – he remembers! What point is there in breaking it gently?”

“Because he’s _my_ goddamned _teenage_ brother! And not everybody has my freakin’ belief threshold! You’re lucky you didn’t drive _me_ crazy either time! I don’t want to chance that with _him_!”  Each sentence was punctuated by another swing of the cushion.

Toby just stared at them, and finally said, “Okay. So this is the Goblin King, the bad guy from all those stories you told me.”

“I was not – _ouch!_ Damn you, vixen, stop that! I was not entirely the villain, young man.”

Sarah turned to Toby, chastened by him – not Jareth’s protests. “Well, yes.  And as much as he’s being an arrogant, scheming  _ bastard _ right now,  he wasn’t … really the bad guy. He was kind of just doing his job. Toby … you’re taking this … really well.”

“Yeah, well, I’d think I was going nuts, but I can totally believe you’d go and beat the crap out of the Goblin King with whatever was at hand,” Toby said. “Now how the hell did he trick you into _dating_ him, and how do I get you out of it?”

She wilted a little. This was going to be harder than she’d thought. “About that. Um…”

“Your sister is my lover of her own free will, and she has neither reason nor plans to leave me,” Jareth said, as Sarah yelped again. Toby glared at him, squaring his shoulders, and Jareth’s brows arched even higher. “I know this is difficult for you, and you have my apologies.”

“Shut it, Goblin King. It would be less difficult if you weren’t being so damn blunt about the whole thing,” Sarah ground out. “Seriously, Jareth, he’s _fifteen_. Let’s call it dating, okay? Damn.”

“Were you not the one, precious, who told me that adulthood is when you stop being afraid of villains and start wanting to bed them?” Jareth said silkily, and she gave him the most incredulous look she was capable of giving, horrified at having her own words thrown back at her right in front of her baby brother.

“If you’ll excuse me, I’m going to take the elevator to the roof and walk right off,” she muttered. “See you in twenty.”

Jareth reached out an arm to stop her. “Enough, love. Let us make tea and sit down like civilized people. Toby is your brother, you love him more than anyone else, therefore the sooner I make peace with him, the better.”

“Forget tea, I need a freakin’ drink,” Toby laughed.

“I don’t think so, kiddo. You’re fifteen,” Sarah said immediately. “No booze for you.”

“My sister is screwing the freakin’ Goblin King,” Toby shot back.

That was not exactly something Sarah couldn’t sympathize with. He had a point. Unable to avoid wincing at that, she conceded.  “Okay. One glass of wine. A  _ small _ glass. And don’t tell Karen.”

“Don’t worry, I won’t tell them about your new boyfriend, either,” Toby snarked.

Wine for everyone seemed the best idea, and Sarah found an unmarked bottle in her fridge instead of the chablis she usually drank. She glanced at Jareth, and he only raised an eyebrow. “Okay, fae wine it is,” Sarah said.

Toby sipped, and a surprised smile crossed his face at the clean, crisp flavor. Sarah took a deep draft to settle her nerves. Jareth swirled his glass, and spoke up. “Toby. We had best have this discussion man-to-man. I swear to you, on my life and kingdom and magic, that I have not ensorcelled your sister. I swear I mean her no harm. My intention, in finding my way back into her life, is to make her my queen and have her rule at my side. My reasons for that are several, but chief amongst them is that I love her as I have loved no other in all my life, and no other woman, or man, fae or mortal, can ever take her place in my heart. This I swear by all I hold dear.”

Sarah could only blink, and Jareth sipped his wine calmly.

Toby just looked at him for a long moment. “Well then. Since I know from all those books Sarah read that the fae can’t actually lie, I guess I have to take you seriously.”

“I would appreciate that,” Jareth said.

He cut Sarah a look then, before turning back to the king. “So what does this mean for her? And the rest of us?”

“I would prefer to keep my true nature secret from your parents,” Jareth said. “It would do them harm to try to believe again in faeries and goblins. They will be told that I am a British lord. Soon, Sarah will move to my ancestral estates with me, and her visits home will be by necessity brief.”

“Nuh-uh,” Toby said, even before Sarah could protest. “You don’t get to swan in here and sweep her off to fairyland. She has a life, and a job, and a family who love her. I don’t care how you spin it for Mom and Dad, even if there’s castles and moors and stuff. They’ll want to come visit her.”

“And I’ll rent an actual castle in Wales if they do,” Jareth said. 

Sarah put her hand over his. “We never said how soon it would be,” she told him. “I can’t just drop my whole life. There are children who need me. And I’m not ready to leave.”

Jareth leaned back in his seat, stretching his neck. “Sarah, my love, we are living on borrowed time as it is. The curse you broke specified that you must choose to stay with me.”

“And I did,” she replied. “And I will. But very few relationships dive right into cohabitation. The question is, how much time have I got?”

“What’s this about a curse?” Toby interrupted.

“I was a foolish young man and offended the High King of the fae, for which I was cursed to rule Umardelin – the kingdom of the Labyrinth and the home of the goblins – until I learned patience and humility in love, and my love choose me. Sarah, to my great fortune, is the love who freed me,” Jareth explained.

“I thought you two hated each other,” Toby said, his brow furrowing.

“Well. There was some animosity, at first. She _did_ lay waste to my kingdom in search of you, and behaved with a great deal of disrespect.” Yet Jareth was grinning.

“Let’s _start_ with the ‘ _snake_ ’-tossing, and move on to you were a snarky arrogant jerk who sicced the Cleaners on me,” Sarah retorted, marking the offenses off on her fingers. “And stole several hours’ quest-time because I ‘insulted’ you and your Labyrinth. And let’s not forget the peach.” She raised her brows then, haughtily. “Shall I go on, Your Majesty?

“Yeah, so how did we get from enemies to ‘oh my queen, my love’?” Toby asked, utterly deadpan.

Sarah rubbed her forehead, and took another fortifying swig of wine. “I used to dream about the Labyrinth. I’ve got friends there – Ludo, Sir Didymus, Hoggle, all the ones I told you stories about.  They’re real; they  _ actually _ exist.  Some of those stories were places I went and things I did in dreams.  At some point after, I could feel them near in my sleep and would ‘wake up’ there. After a while, with the three of them with me, I stopped being scared of the place and started thinking of it as my own personal retreat from real life. Especially since I had no idea he knew I was there. We didn’t exactly last see one another under the best terms. Something we continue to have issues with. ” She shot Jareth a look and laughed quietly.

“And the more I saw her, the more I grew to respect her courage, her intelligence, and her defiance,” Jareth said. “No other runner has ever come _back_ to sport in the Labyrinth, nor made such firm allies of its creatures. Your sister is a singular woman.”

“And she wasn’t a woman when you met her, she was a _girl_ ,” Toby pointed out. “Sare, this is like me showing up with my forty-year-old art teacher and saying we’re getting married!”

“True, I am nearly two centuries older than you, but there is no living mortal close to my age,” Jareth responded. “In terms of maturity, I have to say I consider Sarah my equal.”

Sarah couldn’t help it; she cracked up at that. “ _ That’s _ a correct assessment, all right! Except I think I might be  _ more _ mature than you, Mr. Glitterstorm.”

“Anyway,” Jareth said, skirting that topic of contention, but the look in his eye said he might bring it up again later, when their discussion would not be observed. “As Sarah grew older, she came to the realm of her dreams not for her childhood companions, but for my company. And it was my privilege to offer her comfort from the strifes of her young adulthood. I grew to know her well, and love her well, though we never spoke of it.”

_ Comfort. That’s what we’re calling it now. Thank God. Okay, at least you can be a  _ _**little** _ _ discreet. _ “Falling in love with him was never part of the plan, Tobe. Sometimes that’s just how it happens.”

“And I still respect her for defying me, which she continues to do at every opportunity,” Jareth put in. “Now, Sarah. You asked how much time you have. I do not know. If we push our betrothal too long, the magic that binds you to Umardelin will weaken. I do not wish to wait until we’ve done actual damage, however. My _guess_ – and it is only a guess – is that we may have ten years before you must make your residence Underground. Ten years would not be an unheard-of betrothal, among fae.”

Sarah let out the breath she hadn’t been away she’d been holding. It was cheating, she knew it was cheating, and she knew she should be grateful that the curse hadn’t locked her to Umardelin the moment she had agreed to the bargain. But she needed time to tie up the loose ends of her life here. And ten years sounded like forever, though she knew better by now. Forever wasn’t long at all. “Okay,” she said. “That’s fair, more than fair when you consider the circumstances. But that means you  _ don’t  _ have to rush me, even if your estimate is a little off in the end, Jareth. Maybe up to a decade. We  _ do _ have time.”

“I know, but for the sake of the kingdom and our political situation, I would still have you crowned as soon as you will permit it,” Jareth said.

Toby ran a hand through his hair.  “All right. Okay, so … maybe I can live with that if Sarah can. A lot of things can happen between then and now. You just made it sound like it was next week, or something.”

“It  _ could have _ been, Tobe,” she said with a tight smile, squeezing his hand. “The  _ curse  _ determined the outcome, not Jareth. You’ve read the stories; this kind of magic isn’t one that can be controlled. Hell, we might even find out it  _ is _ next week.”

“You must understand as well, Toby, that I am as close to immortal as makes little difference,” Jareth said. “Even ten years counts as ‘soon’ for one such as I.”

Toby scoffed. “Just so you know, if it turns out that you  _ can _ lie and you’re using my sister for something, or if you break her heart or hurt her in  _ any _ way – ”

“You’ll cross whatever realms are necessary and kill me,” Jareth finished dryly. “I know. I love her, too, Toby. I would kill anyone who harmed her. I _know_ you would do the same.”

That earned them both another of Sarah’s patented You’re-Not-Amusing-Dear-Sir looks for the fifth time as she swirled her wine. “As you both  _ assume _ I wouldn’t kill that person or thing before it caught either of your attentions,  _ gentlemen. _ ”

“You likely would, considering your attack on the Beast of Voices, but we are men. It is in our nature to offer violence against any who would harm those we love. True, women are often _more_ vicious in such defense, as any who’ve witnessed a mother rabbit savaging a snake can attest. But men are quicker to attack, and we must have it known between us.”

Jareth looked at Toby then, meeting his eyes gravely. “Where I come from, you are not a boy whose threats are dismissed as idle. You are on the cusp of manhood, and it is as a man that you speak. I understand that, and honor it. Further, I believe that you  _ would _ take up arms and invade the Underground in search of my blood if I harmed her. I can be so relaxed about it because I know that I will not.”

“Well, all right then,” Toby grumbled, and Sarah thought later that Jareth had struck exactly the right note with him. Treating him seriously, talking to him like a man grown instead of a boy – it was precisely what Toby needed to hear to believe that he’d made his point absolutely clear.

At the moment, Toby asked what he’d meant by ‘beast of voices’, and Sarah and Jareth ended up telling him about her last run.

With some very  _ specific _ omissions, of course.

 

…

 

As if Toby’s insistence hadn’t been bad enough, the girls at work were very curious about the handsome and debonair Mr. Kingsley, too. Sarah had to tell them he was often gone on business, and she only got to see him on weekends. “And nights,” Amy teased. “You smile  _ way _ too much in the mornings. Either you’re on drugs, or you’re getting laid.”

Sarah could only roll her eyes. “If it was just that, it wouldn’t be enough to base a relationship on,” she pointed out.

“True, but even if it was just a friends-with-benefits thing, I’d still be jealous. Let me know if you find any more like him, okay?” Amy laughed as she said it; she was married, Sarah remembered, and happily so. 

“There aren’t any more like him,” she responded, and mentally added, _I hope,_ realizing then that she had never quite gotten around to that question yet. Siblings? Yikes. God knew one amorous Goblin King was occasionally too much to handle.

Later that same day, she opened her desk drawer to grab a protein bar for lunch, and  _ just _ managed not to scream when Neesk beamed a toothy grin at her. Luckily none of the others heard the strangled squeak she made, and the little goblin looked abashed. “Sorry, sorry,” he whispered, huddling into a little ball and wringing his tufted tail.

“It’s okay, I just didn’t expect you,” Sarah whispered back. A thought occurred to her, and she narrowed her eyes. “Did Jareth send you to keep an eye on me?”

“No,” he replied. Too easily, perhaps.

Sarah chewed her lip thoughtfully. “Did Jareth tell you not to tell me he sent you?”

Neesk’s ears folded back. “Um … no?”

“Did he tell you to say no if I asked you that?”

Now the goblin looked around as if the answer might be written somewhere in the desk drawer. “Um … I dunno? I jes wants to help you, yer queeniness. I can help?”

Sarah still wasn’t sure if Jareth had sent Neesk, or if her questions had just confused the little goblin. Regardless, she now had a goblin in her desk, who apparently wanted to help her and who might just reveal himself if she wasn’t careful.  _ This is my life, _ Sarah sighed.

“Yes, you can help,” she whispered, hoping none of her coworkers could hear her. They’d surely think she was talking to herself, muttering under her breath. Now all she had to do was think of something for him to do.

Just about then, Amy stuck her head in the office. “Did I hear you call out?” she asked.

Fiction on short notice was rapidly becoming one of Sarah’s essential life skills. “I thought I saw a mouse when I opened my desk drawer,” she laughed. “Just a shadow. I’m all right.”

“Okay,” Amy laughed. “You know you wouldn’t have to worry about that if you didn’t keep those protein bars in your desk.”

“Hey, sometimes a girl’s gotta take a working lunch,” Sarah retorted, grinning.

“Get your English lord to send a catered lunch for all of us,” Amy suggested right back, and returned to her own desk chuckling.

Momentary crisis averted, Sarah returned her attention to Neesk. “Mice? You got mice?” he whispered.

The easy answer would have been,  _ This is New York _ , with a placating, world-weary smile and laugh, but Neesk wouldn’t understand that. She had better never mention the sewers here to the goblins, even in jest. “Every building in this city has mice and probably rats living in the walls,” Sarah whispered back.

Neesk’s eyes gleamed, and he drew a dagger from somewhere. “Want ‘em gone, yer majesty?”

She couldn’t resist the smile then, though she quelled it quickly, glancing up to reassure herself that no one was looking. Who knew how excitedly he’d respond to that; yeah, joking about the sewers was  _ definitely _ a no-go.  “ _ Quietly _ ,” Sarah whispered. “I don’t want my coworkers to know you’re here.”

“Gotcha! Quiet as mousies! _Dead_ mousies!” With that, Neesk disappeared, and Sarah prayed she wouldn’t regret this later.

 

…

 


	4. Preparations and Reminiscences

Jareth could move damned quickly when he chose to, and Sarah saw the proof. Within a week the new formal throne room had taken shape. The floor tiles were elegantly patterned, and the walls were hung with a mix of velvet drapes and exquisite tapestries. True to his word, Jareth had let her review those designs before having them made, and Sarah was relieved to note that he hadn’t snuck in one of the more ridiculously flattering drafts. She didn’t need to look like some kind of fantasy novel heroine, even if she sometimes felt like she’d fallen into one.

“Do you like it?” Jareth asked, as she looked about.

“You went for alabaster after all,” she said, noting the columns. Like everything else touched by his magic, they glittered, but it was very subtle, just a shimmer that could have been sunlight. High windows did let in the natural light, but there were also chandeliers hung with crystals that sparkled and shone.

“And marble,” he pointed out. “The throne will come later – I want it carved, and that’s best done by artisans, not magic.”

“I like it,” Sarah said, and smiled at him. He kissed her, and they both heard a faint rustling in the room. When they broke apart, a rich carpet had appeared on the dais where the throne would be, deep burgundy like the gown she’d worn – briefly – on her second run. As they watched, a runner spooled out from it to the door, making a path for petitioners to approach the royal throne.

Sarah  _ had _ just thought that all that stone would be cold, an advantage in summer but a problem in winter. The thought of putting in carpet hadn’t quite occurred to her, but it had to Umardelin. “Thank you,” she said aloud. “That’s just what it needed.”

Jareth chuckled. “It took me far too long to realize I should appreciate my kingdom, and tell her so. I’m pleased, though not surprised, that you know better.”

Sarah shrugged, leaning back against him as the clear window glass took on a faintly opalescent sheen. “You grew up with magic. I didn’t. It’s still something wondrous to me, and since you told me this place responds to our thoughts and needs, it just makes sense to be grateful.”

“As I am grateful for you, Sarah, who are wondrous to me.” He punctuated the sentence with a kiss to her temple, and she let her head drop back to his shoulder.

“We’re really doing this,” she murmured for the dozenth time.

“Yes, we are,” he told her.

Out of the corner of her eye, she saw a goblin scuttle past, this one wearing a helmet made of a rat’s skull. It reminded her of Neesk’s recent visit, and she nudged Jareth. “By the way, you don’t have to send goblins to spy on me.”

He looked perplexed. “Why would I do that, when I have the seeing crystals?”

Sarah snuggled against him thoughtfully. “Then why is Neesk following me around? He was in my desk drawer the other day. And you sent him to wake me up, that time.”

“I asked for volunteers to go Above and bring you here,” Jareth told her. “If he’s coming to you of his own volition, then he has assigned himself as your aide and guardian. I have several goblins who consider themselves ‘mine’. It’s not surprising that you have one of your own already.”

“And why exactly is that not surprising?” Sarah asked, more curious than anything else.

“The land loves you. It follows that its residents should as well. If he troubles you, I can order him to stop following you about – though you should know that goblins are not the most obedient of folk.”

Sarah shook her head. “Nah. As long as he doesn’t get in trouble, he’s welcome.”

“And what of kings whom you so often describe as _being_ trouble?” Jareth purred. “Are they, too, welcome?”

She kissed him in answer.

 

…

 

Sarah went for a run in Central Park during lunch, mentally going over preparations for the Champion’s Ball as she moved at a comfortable pace. It was safe enough, by day, but she didn’t use headphones – and pretended not to see the goblin escort that was now a welcome layer of protection, instead of a threat.

She went over the plans in her mind, sure that she’d missed something, but it all seemed to be well in hand. The date was chosen, invitations had been sent out, the menu was planned, and servants had been selected. Most of them were not goblins; Sarah was coming to realize that there were many other sorts of fae in the kingdom. Jareth told her that goblins lived in other kingdoms, too, but Umardelin was their homeland, and the place where the vast majority of them resided. Some goblins would serve as pages during the ball, the ones that cleaned up well and could be relied upon not to bite the guests. The rest of the servants were drawn from those other fae, whose races Jareth had named for her when she requested it, but she couldn’t keep them all straight in her mind.

Jareth had told her, when he saw her struggling, that there were more kinds of fae than even the fae themselves knew. And in any case, there was enough interbreeding that they couldn’t be considered separate species, much as the ‘higher’ fae might want to believe that. The memory of that conversation made her smile as her muscles warmed to the work of carrying her along the park’s wooded paths.

“Look at my own case,” he’d said. “My grandfather is an owl.”

“I didn’t know there were owl-fae,” Sarah had mused. “I guess there have to be, since you turn into an owl.”

Jareth had chuckled, and corrected her. “I didn’t say he was an owl-fae. I said he was an  _ owl _ . An ordinary – well, ordinary for any beast born Underground – barn owl. And shape-shifting is not as common as the fae would like it to be.”

Sarah had stared at him. “Wait. You’re telling me your grandfather was an actual  _ bird _ .”

“ _Is_ ,” he’d corrected again. “Both my mother’s parents are living, and you will meet them someday. And I suppose it’s time I told you the tale of them.” Jareth had taken her to one of the window seats, settled her snuggled in his arms and lying back against him, and told her the story. It was a true _story_ , the way he phrased it sounding like something she would’ve heard from her mother when she was just a little girl, and Linda still told her tales that began with ‘Once upon a time’.

 

…

 

Once upon a time there was a beautiful girl called Iswyniel. Born into a powerful fae family, while still a child she was promised in marriage to the eldest son of a neighboring king. On her sixteenth birthday she was wed to Falemar in a grand ceremony that promised peace and prosperity for both their kingdoms.

The marriage of Falemar and Iswyniel, however, was not destined for peace. Her lord and husband was an angry, impatient man, frustrated with his parents’ tardiness in abdicating the throne. To them, he presented the same helpful, obedient face as always, playing the dutiful son. To his bride, he allowed his wrath full expression.

For a time she feared him, cowering in their rooms (but never in public, he would beat her more viciously if she shrank from him where others might see) and trying desperately to appease him. She wept for the lost dreams of her childhood, and her sobbing enraged him, so she retired to a forgotten, overgrown corner of the gardens to cry out her grief where none might be disturbed by it.

Her tears formed a silver pool, and one day as Iswyniel wept she saw a stranger’s face looking back at her, instead of her own reflection. “Why do you cry, child?” the old crone in the mirrored water asked.

Iswyniel was afraid, but obedience had been beaten into her, and she told her whole sad story to the crone.

Who laughed. “Silly girl. He is but a man, and an especially foolish one at that. I can teach you how to tame him.”

“I don’t want to tame him,” Iswyniel protested. “I want to be free of him.”

“I can teach you that, too,” the crone proclaimed.

Thus began Iswyniel’s tutoring in magic. Her husband noticed that she was distant, but he did not mind, as she no longer embarrassed him with her flinching nor disturbed him with her crying. He was more concerned with feasting and drinking (and wenching, sad to say), and making plans for the day when the kingdom would be _his_.

So he was utterly surprised to find Iswyniel in their rooms, seated naked on the floor with candles burning all around her, and a stone bowl before her which smoked with sweet and foul odors. “What is the meaning of this?” Falemar roared.

“I am to be divorced of you,” Iswyniel told him calmly.

He was blind with fury, and attacked her. The incense and feathers in the bowl were overturned, scattered burning coals across the floor. Falemar struck his bride repeatedly, not caring where the blows landed or if they would leave bruises for others to see. She had never openly defied him like this, and it enraged him beyond all caution.

Iswyniel, for her part, did not try to strike back, curling into a protective ball. Her eyes were tight shut as she tried to remember the words the crone in the water had taught her. It was hard to conjure them to mind with heavy fists crashing into her shoulders and sides.

Cursing her, Falemar caught her hair and yanked her head up, a heavy cuff to the jaw splitting her lip and loosening her teeth. Iswyniel felt rage instead of fear, and her eyes blazed at him so brightly that he stepped back. She spat her own blood into the burning mess on the floor, and it sparkled with anger-fueled magic.

The words of the spell rang in her mind and off her tongue then, and Falemar shrieked like butchered pig. Every blow he’d ever struck against her, every pinch, every cuff, every cruel word, rebounding on him … all at once. He was left dazed and bloodied on the floor, and Iswyniel stepped over his battered body to gather up the clothes and possessions she wished to take with her.

The marriage had been of political importance, and she was certain her parents and his would try to force a reconciliation. Iswyniel had no intention of letting that happen, so she fled to the high wild realms where few fae dared to go. Those unclaimed lands were free for the taking, and many a fae kingdom had been raised from them. But the magic there was wild, and it took skill and daring to master even a small territory. Iswyniel learned more magic from the sorcerers who dared those realms, and eventually raised herself a tower, in which she could be safe from all further interference. The lands around her tower became known as hers, and those who dwelt there offered her tribute in return for her forbearance.

That was all well and good to Iswyniel, who minded not the attentions of the simple folk in that realm—dwarfs and sprites and other low fae. Her only concern was that she could not supervise her lands from the safety of her tower. There was a seeing-crystal spell she could use, but it was tiresome and a waste of magic to send it spinning all across her territory. She had need of a spy, or perhaps an overseer.

One day, the tribute included a live barn owl with an injured wing. Iswyniel did not quite know if her people expected her to use it in some dread spell, or eat it, or keep it for a pet, or if they hoped she might be able to heal it. Healing was within her powers, particularly since what the bird needed most was rest and feeding. She decided to make the swift, silent owl her eyes in the realm.

But a bird is only a bird, and an owl not raised by men or fae is a wild thing that can never quite be tamed. It hissed and clacked its beak at her even when she brought it food. She could have commanded it with magic, but that would be as bothersome as the seeing crystals. What Iswyniel needed was something with the flight and vision of an owl, but the biddable nature of a dog. And, to seek out notable events and report back to her, the intelligence of something like herself. Reluctantly, she turned the bird into a person.

She hadn’t known until he stared at his new hands in wonder and terror that the bird had been  _male_ . Iswyniel had, thanks to her husband, conceived a vast dislike of the entire male sex, and she’d been quite furious that her intended companion was male. Any attempt to make him a woman failed; he might not have had a concept of self while an owl, but he knew he was male. So she was forced to deal with the bird she called Jarrek.

Jarrek, once his situation and duties had been explained to him, was a faithful servant. He soared over her realm, bringing her news of her people. When Iswyniel was inclined to deal curtly with them, he counseled patience; he had listened to their little lives, their loves and strifes, and he cared for them as he might have cared for his own nestlings, had he remained only an owl. It was Jarrek who brought compassion and kindness back to the implacable sorceress Iswyniel had become.

In time, she became as protective of her subjects as Jarrek was. Her realm was recognized as her kingdom, its lands separated from the wild waste by firm borders, and the rest of fae nobility acknowledged her right to rule. (No one dared mention her erstwhile marriage.) Jarrek had become her seneschal, seated at her right hand whenever she held court, and Iswyniel considered him her friend and confidant as well. They talked of many things beyond the vagaries of rulership, and after long acquaintance and much trust, she found herself telling him of her husband. Jarrek had stiffened as she spoke, and said only, “He deserved far worse than you gave him, my lady.”

To change the topic, she asked something unwise. “What of you? Why did you never take a wife? I never forbade you, and I have seen many of the comelier specimens in my court casting glances at you.”

Jarrek had smiled ruefully. “My lady, I am still an owl. We mate for life, and my heart is already taken.”

Iswyniel had cause for regret then, and looked at him compassionately. She had never asked herself what she was doing to him when she’d first worked that spell. Regret loosened her tongue, and she asked more than she should have. “Jarrek, my apologies. Did I take you from your owl-wife, all unthinking?”

He looked back at her steadily. His eyes were the same color as an owl’s, so dark gray they looked uniformly black. “No, my lady. I was scarce more than a fledgling when I injured my wing, which led to our meeting.”

_If he was not wed to an owl, then…?_ Iswyniel realized what he meant, who the only other person in his life could be, and blushed scarlet. Jarrek merely bowed to her, murmured, “My lady,” once more, and took himself out of the room.

Strangely, she was the one made awkward by the revelation of his feelings. Jarrek changed his behavior not a whit, while Iswyniel found herself uncomfortable in his presence. The light of his regard nagged at her, as a thousand brief instants suddenly added up to love.

Iswyniel had not wanted love, had never even considered it. Love was fine for others, and she sent wedding gifts to her subjects—but she also watched the brides’ eyes, looking for a hint of panic under the joy. She could not bear the thought of leaving another trapped in the same position she’d once been in. And once she’d won her freedom from her cruel husband, she had shut the door on love for herself, forever after.

But then there was Jarrek.

After an unbearable week of not knowing what to say to him, of being well-nigh speechless in his presence, Iswyniel called him to the little room at the top of the tower, alone. She knew that what must be said between them would be between a man and a woman, not a seneschal and his queen, so she wanted no other witness. “My lady?” he said, as he entered.

“Jarrek, you must listen to me,” she said, having prepared the speech well ahead of time. She had no wish to break his loyal heart, but she had not asked him to love her! And she could not bear knowing that he did. “I cherish you beyond all others in the world. You are more than my faithful servant, you are my dearest friend. I would give you anything you need; you have only to ask. But this, Jarrek, I cannot do.”

“I do not recall asking you to _do_ anything,” he said simply.

Her careful words fled, leaving her tongue-tied again. “You know the tale of my husband, how and why I left him,” she said, faltering.

“I know,” he responded. “I would be tempted to put his eyes out, if ever we met, for he was and is unworthy to look upon you. I would very much like to strike off his hands, for having raised them against you. But to do so would diminish _your_ triumph, my lady, so I leave him in the past, where he belongs.”

He refused to see, and she could not remember how to tell him. Frustration moved her, but there was fear beneath it, unacknowledged even to Iswyniel herself. “Jarrek, I cannot love a man!” Iswyniel cried out, and her own heart twisted in her breast.

He stepped closer, and regarded her with those cool, dark gray eyes. “I am not a man, my lady.”

That gave her pause and stole her voice again. Jarrek continued in his soft, implacable voice. “For all that I look and speak and reason like a man, my lady Queen, I am an owl at heart, and always will be. And my heart belongs to you. I demand nothing of you beyond what you are willing to give. If that is only your company and your service for as long as I shall live, then so be it. My life is yours as well. Given in repayment, when you healed my wing and saved my life. Given again in love, when I came to know you. All I ask is that you do not send me away.” A pause, and still more softly, “An owl who loses his mate will often find a lonely tree in which to perch, turn his head toward the bark, and sit there until he dies. We do not survive grief so well as others.”

“I would not send you away,” Iswyniel said, her throat choked with tears. For his hopeless devotion, or for her frozen denial, she could not say. “I cannot send you away. You … if not for you I would have been no better a queen than my once-husband would be a king. You _are_ my heart, Jarrek.”

“So. I see no cause for discord between us, then.” And saying that, he stepped closer still. Iswyniel had stiffened, expecting him to try and kiss her, ready to lash out with magic if he did. For all his pretty words, he had best not take liberties.

Instead, he only held out his hand, and when she gave him hers in bemusement, he bowed over her fingers. But he did not kiss them, did not even clasp her hand in his, only gave her his honor and regard. As he always had. Jarrek turned then and took himself away, leaving the sorcerer-queen to stand alone and confused in her tower. Her heart thundered in her chest, though not with dread.

Things between them went somewhat back to normal. Iswyniel was still worried by his love, the weight of which she could feel even though he wisely never pressed her. And she was still confused by the pain in her own heart, which she had thought closed to such silly feelings. She caught herself feeling miserable for not being able to love him wholeheartedly, but Jarrek would not allow her to make any apology. “I love you,” he told her. “That is all. Love does not demand recompense, it simply is.”

Perhaps things might have gone on like that for longer, but one day a messenger arrived with a proposal. One of the other wilds-land lords had been steadily adding to his lands. It interested Iswyniel to note that he did so by negotiation and alliance, rather than by force. He had already taken two smaller holdings between his lands and hers, making their erstwhile rulers dukes of those lands. From all she knew, he was a fair and just king.

His envoy made her an offer that few would have refused. It told her in flowery language that her lands were too well-managed to need the sort of overtaking he’d used with others, and praised her wisdom, her mercy, and her magic. “To you King Gyril offers another form of alliance,” the messenger said. “Wed him, join your lands and the territories between in marriage. You will be co-ruler, not consort; he wishes your experience in certain matters. This marriage can only increase your strength and his, and offers many advantages for those living in both kingdoms.”

Iswyniel could only stare. Jarrek, at her side, was uncharacteristically silent. “I have no wish to marry,” she said at last. “I would make no fit bride for your king, in any case.”

The messenger, who stood alone in their audience chamber, still glanced about him. “If I may approach, Your Highness?” he said. “There are … terms which are best spoken softly.”

She expected a threat, and readied a spell under her breath. Jarrek sat forward attentively; he’d had few occasions to defend her over the years, but in each one, he had acted with silent speed and fury. Those who admired owls for their beauty often forgot that they were indeed birds of prey, and he had the raptorial ferocity to prove it so. “Come forward,” she told the messenger.

The envoy approached the dais and spoke quietly. “King Gyril wishes you to understand that he is not suggesting a romance. This would be a political alliance only. You need not share his bed unless and until you wish an heir of royal blood.”

“King Gyril has a mistress, then?” Iswyniel asked, guessing that it was some low fae who would not bring him such political advantages as she could. “Let him marry her, and for love. I would happily advise him if he asked. But my lands are my own, and my hand in marriage he shall not have.”

“The king does not have a mistress,” the envoy said. “He has his lovers, but no woman will be set above you. Were you a man, he would court your favor and seek to wed you for love as well as politics. But word comes to us that the Sorceress of Astolwyr will take no man, so he supposes you might be as he is. And if that is so, you two can make a fruitful political alliance that may someday bear children, while both of you enjoy the life – and love – to which you are accustomed.”

The fae as a whole made little note of differences in sexuality. Marriages between men and women were preferred for the legal provenance of the offspring was clearly established – even if, in some cases, the children might not resemble their  _official_ fathers as well as one would expect. Most fae sexuality was fluid, and there were few who were exclusively hetero or homosexual. Apparently this Gyril was the latter, and still playing the field enough not to wish to marry one of his men.

Iswyniel herself had never really considered women. Among the high born ladies, another woman was often a rival, and besides, she’d closed her heart to all love, not just men. She blinked now to realize that this king thought she was as dedicated an invert as himself. What foolish rumors must fly in her realm?

“It is a noble offer,” she said at last. “But one which I must refuse. I married for political advantage once, and it ended badly. You may tell King Gyril that I respect the courage and wit that made the proposal, and I would create an alliance between us built on trade and friendship. If I am to marry again, I will only marry for love. Tell him I advise him to do the same, for love is sweeter and stronger than mere politics.”

The envoy bowed, and took her answer away, and in the years to come she did indeed count Gyril as an ally. He visited her court as she visited his, and never once pressed the subject or showed any resentment of her rejection.

That night, however, Iswyniel paced the roof of her tower. The words she’d spoken of love rang true to her, words she would have dismissed as foolish drivel not so long ago. The most reasonable and rational offer could not tempt her, and her reason was no longer that she recoiled from marriage in horror. No, Iswyniel found in her own heart that she could not betray Jarrek by marrying another – which surprised her.  _He_ had never offered marriage, only love, and love that did not seek to bind her. Love that was freeing her, bit by bit, from her hatred of men and marriage, thawing her heart as the gentle spring sun loosened the ice of winter.

If she married –  _if_ , Iswyniel told herself – she could only marry Jarrek, for he loved her selflessly. He had spoken no word against Gyril’s proposal, and when she sent the envoy away he merely nodded. There was no possession in his love, only regard.

And she loved him, despite herself. It took many long years, and like the best of loves, it was not easy. In the end, it was she who proposed marriage to him, and he gladly accepted. At long last, Iswyniel, Sorceress-Queen of Astolwyr, wed for love – and was to her own surprise a very happy bride.

She was even more surprised to find herself a happy  _ mother _ , but that is a tale for another time.

 


	5. Through the Faerie Glass

Sarah was pulled from memory by the sight of two other joggers heading the opposite way. A man and a woman, and unlike most New Yorkers they gave her a brief wave, which she returned as they passed. It was getting close to the end of her break, so she slowed to a walk to cool down.

It was while she was walking, enjoying the feeling of honest exercise and enjoying even more the fact that she could get a quick shower in the gym before going back to work, that she saw someone she recognized. This part of Central Park had plenty of benches, but the girl with the spectacular green hair was sitting on the ground at the foot of an oak tree. It looked like she’d been eating a sandwich, and was now tossing bits of bread and french fries to the starlings, pigeons, and squirrels that had gathered around her.

The wildlife in the park was tamer than most, considering that they were often fed and rarely harassed, but one of the squirrels ran lightly up the girl’s shoulder and perched there.  _ That _ wasn’t normal, and Sarah already knew this girl was fae. Jareth had told her how to summon him if she ran across the urban fae again… 

But she wasn’t going to do that just yet.

Instead Sarah strolled over calmly and folded herself into a sitting position a comfortable distance away. The squirrel flicked its tail at her and scampered up the tree, scolding, while the birds merely strutted away. The girl looked back at her calmly, wearing what was probably the same coat. “Hi,” Sarah said. “I’m Sarah.”

“My name is Alix,” the girl told her. “And someone showed you how to hide the talisman you wear. Wise of him, or her.”

Still not threatening, still as casually polite as ever, and Sarah decided to gamble that her instincts were correct. “He did it for me, actually. I don’t have that good control of my magic just yet. But I’m learning.”

Alix smiled. Sarah thought her hair was actually her natural color, but her lips were definitely lipstick – she had owned the same shade of plum, not so many years ago. “And is he your master, or your lover?” she asked.

“No one is my master,” Sarah said, and felt the weight of the words. There was movement in the underbrush around them, and she hoped the goblins would stay out of sight. 

The girl nodded. “I rather thought so. Anyone so bold as to approach an unknown fae, more or less alone, wouldn’t accept servitude well enough to be allowed to run loose. So he’s your lover, then. And … hmm. I doubt you’d take a goblin lover. You’re far too beautiful for that. Who is king of Umardelin, these days?”

That startled Sarah badly, and she leaned back. The moment she did so, she felt a weight land on her shoulder, and Neesk growled at the strange fae. Before she could tell him to hold back, the assorted pigeons and starlings turned as one, ruffling their feathers.

“Peace,” said Alix, waving her hand. The birds settled … and so did Neesk. Sarah couldn’t tell whether that was the other fae’s power at work, or just him reacting to her mollifying words. “I’m sorry to have startled you. My friends here told me there have been goblins in the park lately, and I could smell them when you came near. I have no quarrel with goblins or their king. Nor with you, Sarah.”

“What do you want from me, then?” Sarah asked.

Alix laughed. “From you? Nothing. I’m not quite sure what you are, Sarah. Human, to start with it, that much I do know. But if I don’t know what you can do, then I don’t know what use you could be to me and mine. Or what threat you could be.”

That wasn’t an answer, and Sarah knew by now to keep pressing for one. “Why seek me out? You showed me your eyes on purpose.”

Taking off the glasses, Alix regarded her with those strange eyes. “I’d seen you before at the cafe, and you were nothing unusual. Then you turn up one day smelling of magic, and wearing a talisman of power around your neck. That’s the sort of change that could spell trouble, for those of us Above. If you’d stolen the talisman, its rightful owner would hunt you down – and either trample through us, or demand our help. Either way it would be … unpleasant. If you were given such a thing, then it might mean there’s a new player in the game here in this city.”

“I don’t think Jareth wants anything in New York, except me,” Sarah said dryly.

“Jareth, son of Deruthiel of Etaron?” Alix asked. “He still rules Umardelin? Well, well. He’s either much luckier, or much smarter, than everyone thought.”

“A little of both, I think,” Sarah replied, not taking offense. It was probably best that strangers underestimated Jareth. For now, anyway.

“With Umardelin to rule, then no, there’s not much here he could want,” Alix said. “Better for those of us who do live here. With that aside, may I offer you some advice?”

Sarah arched a brow. “Sure.”

“He may not be the best teacher for you. It might be better, and easier for you to learn, if you studied magic with someone who doesn’t have access to quite so much of it.”

That gave her pause for thought. Still, she remembered Jareth’s warning, and asked warily, “Why?”

“If you don’t know how to swim, you shouldn’t start out by studying with a fish. What he knows, and the levels of power he’s swum in all his life, would drown you.” Alix gave her a measuring look, then continued. “There is magic here, Above, and even in a city the size of this one. You ought to begin your study here, with someone who knows how to work with _small_ magics and limited power. Much less chance of catastrophe, that way.”

Sarah had to admit, it made sense. And it was even to Alix’s advantage. An untutored magic user running around with potential access to all of Umardelin’s power  _ could _ have very unpleasant, and very large-scale, results. She already knew that her magic, when she was stressed and furious and afraid for her life, could create something like an explosion. Suppose she got mugged in the park one day. Would there be a blast crater? How would she explain that to the cops?

She settled herself, feeling Neesk on her shoulder moving with her. The little goblin was quickly becoming a reassuring, familiar presence. “I’m guessing that you’re volunteering to be my teacher, then?” she said to Alix.

“Yes. You’re safer to be around if you have some control. And you’re too well-protected for us to try chasing you off, so it’s better to make an ally of you. If your Jareth is as smart as I think he is, he’s told you that no fae will offer you anything freely.”

“There’s no such thing as a free lunch. I didn’t need him to tell me that, but yes, he did warn me.”

“I doubt he needed to. You have that skeptical look about you. I’m sure you’d prefer to consult with him first, but if you decide to take instruction with me, come to the club where you saw us that day.”

“Imperiale, right?” Sarah said, recalling the sign above the door. “Do I just ask the bouncer if you’re there, or what?”

“I own it,” Alix replied. “All the staff are mine. They will know to bring you to me.”

That raised Sarah’s brows a little, but she knew that Alix wasn’t as young as she looked. Being fae, she could’ve been centuries old. And besides, there probably were a few teenagers out there in the world who owned clubs, anyway. She’d read somewhere about a fifteen-year-old boy who made himself a millionaire using eBay.

Their conversation seemed concluded, but Sarah couldn’t resist one final question. “Just out of curiosity, what would you have done if I’d decided to try threatening you? I mean, I have goblins, you have pigeons.”

Alix laughed, and it was friendly amusement, not sarcastic at all. “Oh, Sarah, give me more credit than that! I have lived as a fae in New York City as long as you’ve been alive. I keep more than  _ pigeons _ around to defend me, though you shouldn’t discount the deleterious effects of a dozen birds trying to peck out your eyeballs. Look behind you.”

She did, and startled. The goblins had formed a tight group around her, hiding in the shrubbery nearby, but they’d accidentally let themselves be outflanked. Behind Sarah, sitting in neat ranks on the path, were a horde of rats, a dozen raccoons, three stray dogs, and a very shifty-looking coyote. “Holy shit,” Sarah said, and then laughed.

Alix said a few words in some other language, and the animals dispersed. “It’s always worth cultivating allies,” she said. “Even allies from the ‘lower’ species. Something we Above have learned all too well, while those Below tend to cloister themselves in their kingdoms.”

“Smart,” Sarah said, and was glad she hadn’t called Jareth. She had the feeling that Alix wouldn’t have sicced rats and pigeons on the Goblin King … but this fae was too canny for her to want to start making enemies. “You know, Jareth’s pretty progressive … for a king. He always does this little sneer when he talks about how the high fae treat the low fae.”

“Yes, well, he rules goblins,” Alix pointed out. “And he’s high enough born, if I remember my genealogy right, that he can afford to be generous.”

“His grandfather’s an owl. I think some of it is honest lack-of-pretension, although I never thought I’d ever accuse him of _lacking_ pretension.”

Alix chuckled. “The high fae really only have their pretensions to distinguish them. Well, that and their unbridled use of magic. I have errands to run, Sarah, and I’m sure you do as well. Come to Imperiale when you’ve spoken to your king.”

“He’s not my king,” she shot back, and quickly amended, “Well, okay, he’s _my_ king but he’s not my _king_. There’s an important difference there.”

Alix grinned. “I suspect I know what he sees in you, then. Pretty mortals are a dime a dozen, but defiance like yours is refreshingly rare.”

“Yeah, yeah, he loves a challenge, he says. And sulks like a damn teenage boy when he loses. Good thing he’s handsome.” Sarah stood up, brushing off the seat of her pants, and realized Neesk was still perched on her shoulder. “Do _not_ tell Jareth anything I said here,” she added.

“Right on, yer majestickiness!” Neesk agreed, and hopped down to run away.

Alix rose too, and slipped her glasses back on. “Fare thee well, Sarah,” she said with a slight inclination of her head, turned away and … disappeared.  _ Fae, _ Sarah thought, and headed back to work.

 

…

 

As it turned out, Neesk kept his word, and Sarah was the one to tell Jareth about her meeting with Alix.

Though she didn’t get very far before he said, in dangerous tones, “Stop.”

Sarah looked at him, and saw his eyes had gone stormy, flickers of iridescence gleaming within them. Jareth stared at her for a long moment, then said slowly and levelly, “So. Despite my warning, you went to speak to a strange fae. Alone.”

“Not entirely alone, I had the goblins,” Sarah pointed out. “And I didn’t seek her out. She happened to be in the park, so I went to talk to her. Also: not fifteen anymore. And didn’t need to be protected from fae when I _was_ fifteen.”

Jareth steepled his fingers and sighed heavily, his eyes slowly going back to their normal colors. “All right. Point taken. You are the Champion, after all. And since you are sitting here before me, unharmed and without a host of angry urban fae behind you, I must concede that your instincts were correct. But my beloved Sarai … why take such a risk? Surely you do not believe you must  _ continue _ to prove yourself the equal of any fae.”

“Eventually I’m gonna be living among fae, Jareth. I’d better not be scared of your kind. According to you, I’m gonna be doing this for a _long_ while.”

Jareth huffed. “And when you are Queen and wife as well as Champion, you will have my power to draw upon when you face them.”

Sarah dropped her face into her hands. “I’m not going to depend entirely on you to come and rescue me. What kind of Queen would that make me? I’m not a coward, Jareth. I’ve got my own wits and my own strengths – and yeah, I did think about the fact that I could call you in if I had to.”

His eyebrows went up. “Did you?”

“Yes! I’m not _stupid_. Jareth, I had the goblins for backup, but if she’d been the least threatening, I would’ve called for you. As it was, Alix was being cool, so I was, too. If I’d called you in without provocation, you might’ve scared her off. She strikes me as being too smart to stand and face a pissed-off faerie king.”

“Then she _is_ wise, indeed,” Jareth replied, his eyes flashing. “Lucky for her that you were correct in your character assessment this time.”

“I usually am,” Sarah sniped back.

Jareth leaned back with another sigh. “So. What is it she wants from you?”

Sarah laid out Alix’s offer for him. “And it makes sense. From what she  _ didn’t _ say, there are multiple factions among the urban fae in the city. Having you come stomping around up there would only make things worse for all of them. And if I’m not trained in magic, then one of the others might try to use me as a hostage, which wouldn’t go well for any fae in New York.”

“No, it would not,” Jareth said with a feral grin, his eyes aglow. “It seems quite sensible. I can even admit, however grudgingly, that I may not be the best tutor for you. Perhaps it’s best that you learn the basics from one who has had to make use of smaller magics.”

“See? So it all turned out for the best, and you didn’t have to glitter-rage all over the Manhattan skyline.” Sarah spread her hands and smiled smugly.

She would not have been so gleeful if she’d known the plans Jareth was making, even as they spoke.

 


	6. Ill-Met By Moonlight

But first, there was the Champion’s Ball. The event which Sarah had agonized over seemed to be coming off without a hitch, which only made her more nervous. She was so uneasy that she had not invited her allies to attend – not that Hoggle wanted to be at a fancy-dress party. Ludo and Sir Didymus didn’t care for court protocol either, though the fox-knight surveyed all of the arrivals for any potential troublemakers. He had spent much of his time in the last few days scouring the realm for any hint of treachery against Sarah.

The castle doors were thrown wide, and thanks to a spell, their guests could arrive on the very steps rather than having to traverse the Labyrinth. It was perfectly safe, since Umardelin itself would not allow an outsider to arrive by magic unless they were properly invited.

Lords and ladies from all the kingdoms of Faerie had come to pay their respects to the ascendant King of the Goblins, though of course they didn’t call him _that_. They addressed him by his proper title, King Jareth of Umardelin. It would always be the Underground to Sarah, as he would always be the Goblin King to her, but he would suffer that nickname from no one else.

Not anymore.

They received their guests in the formal throne room – the new one Sarah had insisted upon. It was, even to her jaded eye, utterly sumptuous and beautiful. Most importantly, there were no chicken feathers on the floor, and no goblin belching contests either. The goblins met their king in his audience chamber, the former throne room, which retained what Sarah sarcastically called its ‘rustic charm’. It also retained Mathilda, the vulture, and her mate Herbert, who were taking turns sitting on their three eggs. To Sarah’s chagrin, Jareth still preferred the audience chamber. The formal throne room was a piece of artifice to him, a sop to the kind of highborn pretension he disdained in everyone except himself.

It was lovely artifice, though, and even he was pleased with it, though he pretended otherwise. Jareth would not allow them to have two entirely separate thrones, not when Sarah was soon to be Queen and already Champion in her own right. So one block of iridescent marble had been carved into two linked seats, intricate designs worked into the backs and arms. Some patterns resembled the paths of the labyrinth, others the vines and flowers of the forest. Some details were picked out in gold, silver, and jewels. The seats were crowned just as those who sat in them, twisting goblin horns for Jareth, the smooth sweep of a bull’s horns for Sarah. She’d questioned that, and he’d told her first that the horns were meant to evoke the moon, an ancient symbol of feminine power. And then he’d reminded her of the path of destruction she left through his city and castle the first time she’d come, and quoted the mortal saying about bulls in china shops.

It was lovely, and some part of Sarah still couldn’t quite believe she should be sitting here. Sooner or later someone was bound to call her a fraud. She wasn’t a faerie queen, nor even the sort of dewy-eyed mortal girl who might believably be swept away here. She was a woman, with a job she had to get back to in the morning, a phone bill that had to be paid this week, and a leaky faucet she had to remember to tell her landlord about. Worse, she knew she _shouldn’t_ let such things bother her. Umardelin itself had accepted her, she was Queen in all but name, and when she touched the key at her throat she could feel the pulse of _her_ realm. The land was certain of her, so why couldn’t she be certain of herself?

As the assembled lords and ladies presented themselves to the throne, Sarah felt more and more out of place. The differences between her and them were just too clear. The men were all inhumanly handsome, the sort who could’ve sent entire high school drama clubs into a mass swoon. But the women…

… the women were painfully beautiful. Not one looked a day over twenty, at least not until she met their eyes, and saw the wisdom of centuries there. Such eyes, too, tourmaline and amethyst and jade, no plain human brown or hazel among them. Their skin was perfect, poreless, fair and smooth as the alabaster stone columns. Every time she narrowed her eyes, Sarah could feel the lines where crow’s feet would be in a few years, but there was not one wrinkle or blemish in the parade of female perfection that curtsied before her throne. They all bowed their heads gracefully to her, the gorgeous sweeps of their hair caught up in jeweled nets, or left loose to slip like waterfalls over their shoulders. A dozen colors, none of them dyed, from silver-blonde to raven-black with all the rainbow in between. Exotic, and gorgeous, and every one of them with a smile like a sunrise, perfect full lips and white, white teeth.

But their obeisance to her was mere formality. To Jareth, they curtsied deeper, held their eyes on him a moment longer, smiled more warmly. At first Sarah thought it was her own jealousy, but by the time the one with the violet hair dipped down to grant them a tempting view right down her jeweled bodice, Sarah knew they were mocking her. Flirting with her lover, right in front of her face, flattering and damn near ogling him as he lounged on his throne and greeted them all with cool formality.

These were not the queens and kings, Jareth had told her. Those who had come today were princelings and highborn ladies, nobles but not royals. Many of them were comparatively young. And most of the ladies were unwed. Women for whom a cursed king in a poor kingdom was beneath notice, but a king who’d broken a curse, a king of high royal bloodlines, a king whose realm flourished … _he_ was worth consideration. Sarah saw the calculation in their desirous looks, and despised them. Her coronation was being planned, but his Champion was not yet his Queen or his bride, and she was only mortal besides. Surely no one else here worried what their _coworkers_ thought of all this time off. Surely they all thought Jareth deserved a bride of his own kind.

With such thoughts in her head, Sarah seethed beneath the silver circlet on her brow, giving empty smiles to the pageant of fae nobility before her. By the time the formal presentations were over, and she and Jareth could dance and mingle, she was fuming. He pulled her close, his mouth against her hair, and murmured, “Has one of them offended you already, love? Perhaps I should have kept one quarter of the goblin city as you left it, to warn them of my champion’s temper.”

Sarah managed to chuckle; his indulgent tone was for her alone, like this first dance. Besides, she couldn’t tell him that they had _all_ offended her. But the next song, she was partnered with some pointy-eared lordling who took her hand as if she might sprout claws, and Jareth danced with the violet-haired fae. She moved like water over smooth stones, like a breeze through the trees, like nothing human. And she spoke softly against Jareth’s cheek, and he smiled back to her with a predatory grin.

 

…

 

“So you broke the curse at last, Jareth,” she said, looking up at him with eyes that changed color as they passed through the lights of the room.

“So I have, Lyselle,” he murmured.

Lyselle had come to Umardelin for the first time some years before Sarah’s run. He knew her; she was the younger sister of one of his friends, and she’d been on the periphery of the group that had so disastrously performed the play that got them all cursed. She was not the first to visit, as there were always curious fae wanting to see if Umardelin was just as bad as it was supposed to be. The High King had probably allowed visitors just to taunt him with the knowledge of what he was missing, in the wider world – and let him feel the scourge of their pity and scorn, when they saw his subjects. At first, he’d spurned them, but as the years wore on Jareth had welcomed the company of his own kind. It was a change from dealing with goblins, at least.

He had expected Lyselle was there to gloat; after the fact, he’d learned that she had also been the lover of Urylas, the fae who had portrayed Titania in that godsforsaken play. Jareth suspected her of coming to gloat, but she did no such thing. They talked of the old days, drank wine to Urylas’ memory, and eventually ended up in bed. It was with Lyselle that Jareth had the idea of trying to break the curse, _trying_ to fall in love with someone.

Trying to fall in love wasn’t easy. He doted on her, he wrote mediocre poetry to her, he courted her as assiduously as he knew how. And they had sex as often as physically possible. It was not enough, and things soured between them. They drifted apart, and didn’t speak for decades.

Lyselle’s honeyed voice recalled him to the present. “It is good to see you again,” she told him, and her hand on his shoulder slipped into a more familiar grasp.

“Whyever should it be?” Jareth asked in reasonable tones. “I seem to recall you left in a temper, the second time.” Lyselle had come back, as it so happened, right after Sarah slammed shut the barrier that allowed them to share each other’s dreams. He had behaved predictably, feeling both scorned and wounded by the loss of Sarah. That second visit of Lyselle’s had been _very_ brief. In his rage and grief, Jareth had taken her passionately enough that he hoped Sarah could feel it.

“No woman appreciates being called by another’s name,” Lyselle told him. That was the unfortunate outcome of their last liaison, and Jareth _did_ feel a little shame for it. Not that he would let Lyselle see that. Not when she was smiling poisonously up at him. “And this Sarah … she must have been quite something, in her youth, to distract you from me. A pity you waited so long to bring her back. She’s rather past her prime.”

Jareth chuckled and gave her a broad smile that exposed his teeth. He could have forgiven Lyselle for being angry, considering their history, but she had insulted Sarah. There would be no more chivalry. “She was indeed. And now she is even more fierce and lovely than ever before. Age has tempered her like a fine sword. While you, Lyselle, ever so pretty, remain nothing more than the spoilt child I sent forth from my realm.”

She laughed sweetly. “Oh, that is too rich! _You_ would call me a child? You who received the lightest punishment of all that pack of fools you called friends?”

“The longest punishment, as well,” Jareth told her mildly.

“Oh, yes, I pity you so,” she said with mock-sweetness. “Poor Jareth, cursed to _rule_. Cursed to a _kingship_. Woe betide your dreadful fate. Urylas _died_ , did you forget that?”

Jareth moved her through a spin and brought her back to him with a little more force than necessary. “I remember, Lyselle. And I mourned then as I mourn now, for the loss of one who should have had centuries. It was not true love, but I adored Urylas, though I think he considered me little more than a useful friend. His heart was his own.”

“He loved,” Lyselle hissed, her eyes flashing red. A second later, she controlled herself. “If not for you, with all your fancy magic, the lot of you would not have gotten into such trouble. You were always the most powerful sorcerer of the lot. If you hadn’t been there, if you hadn’t cast such splendid illusions, perhaps all of them would’ve gotten away with a scolding.”

Jareth scoffed. “Lyselle, you know better. We were  _all_ drunk, and such pranks seemed the height of hilarity. The idea was not mine, though much of the magic was. And even had we not made so successful a farce of it, we would have faced more than a scolding. The High King and Queen are not mocked.  _She_ , especially, suffers no such slander. We were all doomed from the moment Urylas kissed the donkey.”

“And the rest slaved or suffered, while you sat here on your throne,” Lyselle murmured. “Am I supposed to pity you?”

“I would say that you once did, but that was not _pity_ that had you astride me on my throne,” he pointed out, weaving a touch of magic so those nearby couldn’t eavesdrop. “At least, it did not feel like pity. In my experience, pity rarely bites your neck and demands to be fucked harder.”

“I thought you might be useful,” Lyselle said coldly. “You’ve always been a fool for pretty eyes and eager thighs. I hoped I could charm my way onto a throne of my own. You never guessed, did you?”

Jareth laughed, drawing her close. He was almost nose-to-nose with her when he whispered, “I would not have cared, Lyselle. I was using  _you_ to try and break the curse. It’s a pity that you have no more than those pretty eyes and eager thighs to recommend you. Sarah has both, in greater measure, and more courage and cunning than you ever will.”

The music wound down, and Lyselle looked up at him with eyes of ice. “It’s a pity that you stoop to seducing mortals, Goblin King. Then again, you were never as good a lover as you thought you were.”

That barb would sting any man, and as they stepped apart and bowed to each other, Jareth allowed his teeth to show again, this time with no pretense at a smile. “Urylas disagreed,” he told her sweetly, and had the satisfaction of watching her flush with rage.

Then it was on to the next dance, and a more congenial partner.

 


	7. Under My Skin

A terrible feeling of disconnect had begun to creep over Sarah as she’d been in mid-dance with yet another partner. For no reason, a chill shivered across her strongly enough that she startled in her current partner’s arms, Sarah’s panicked gaze searching the room for a sign of Jareth. It ate at her, then, a feeling many years old trying to overwhelm her with its intensity and insistence. The dread she felt brought her back to that moment of hearing the strike of the grandfather clock, of the owl’s fluttering wings while the spell, his magic, was broken. When she had been too late to call him back. Sensing something imperative too late to stop it. She didn’t know what it was, but something was wrong; something more than her nervousness and feelings of inadequacy.

On the far side of the ballroom, she spotted that waterfall of distinctive purple hair, spinning into sight only seconds before the white-gold of Jareth’s. They were deep in conversation and Sarah felt the chill again. On the next turn, before they were out of sight, their gazes met briefly and Sarah knew now that it was this one from which her unease stemmed. Whatever the threat was, it was the girl it centered on. The knowing smile on her lips before the other dancers cloaked them again changed her chill to fury. All night long, she had tried to turn a blind-eye to those who had made clear their hopes of taking the Goblin King as their own, as she was Queen in her own right by the land’s choosing. She would be, even if she had chosen not to marry him. That, that she could handle.

But that one, her own intuitions told her, _that one_ was trouble. Trouble for her and trouble for hers. She knew more of Jareth than he had let on when she’d presented herself before them. And he more of her, as his own expression had made clear in the glimpse of their faces had revealed. Sarah couldn’t ever remember being this angry at him in all their time together. Angry and humiliated. The ice in her veins before was burned away in the bonfire that rose in her heart at the thought. _After all of this nonsense, he’ll never know what hit him_ , she thought wildly. How dare he do this to her now, when he had insisted on her presence here, on her on the throne? It was all she had in that moment to bury her fury and seem only mildly distracted in the dance.

But her ability to guard her emotions could only last so long and the longer she waited, the angrier she found herself growing. Half a dozen dances later, Sarah managed to snag Jareth again. By then she’d ground her teeth until her jaw ached, and her green eyes were savage on his. And she hated herself for the fury she was feeling, but that didn’t change it. She would not suffer this from him now. “Just so you know, _your majesty_ ,” she began, keeping her voice low and her tone much sweeter than the words, in case they were overheard. “Don’t think I don’t see them all flinging themselves at your feet. And, just to be clear, I am _not_ amused.”

His up-swept brows arched even higher in surprise; Sarah wanted to smack that look off his face. Her chin came up then, shoulders going back, spine stiffening as she stood ramrod straight. And now _he_ had offended her. Evidently he’d thought she was blind to all the come-ons, subtle and otherwise. After all this time, how could he think she still saw with the eyes of that naïve girl? Emotionally distancing herself was hard, but not impossible. She would not let anyone, not even him, tread on her dignity.

Before he could respond, she leaned in close, nestling her lips again his ear before biting off each word. “At this point, I would sooner tear your heart out of your chest than watch you walk away.” No warmth in that tone, the clear emotion in the blunt statement flooring her. It was the most honest she had been so far about her feelings on the matter, but her pride would not allow her to stop at that. Sarah was keeping as tight a lid as she could on her raging indignation, her inner self screaming at the top of her lungs and flinging chairs into mirrors. Not a ripple showed on her cheek, her brow, but she could feel the burn of her anger on her skin. How dare he think she was blind? She was _not_ going through all of this again, forced to second-guess his motives and intentions. Not when she had fallen so hard, let him in so thoroughly. “And if you leave me, after all I’ve been through, all _we’ve_ been through, I _will_ kill you, Jareth. You will _never_ even see it coming. Not after all I’ve given up for you since that first run.”

She could see how the vehemence of those words startled him, but Jareth never missed a step in their dance. His arm around her waist, he spun her in a complicated measure. His next words were spoken against her hair, his breath warm on her cheek. “Sarah, you wound me. They are all prettiness and no substance. I am an owl; why would I trouble myself with such little hummingbirds when a falcon chooses to perch at my side?”

She drew back a little to meet his gaze even as golden light danced before hers; there was nothing playful in his eyes, and he _did_ look hurt, though not so much that the others whirling through the dance would notice it. Well, the hell with that. She was hurt, too. How was she supposed to compete with this? It was foolish that she hadn’t considered the complications more. “Really? What about when this isn’t so new, when you’ve worked through the thrill of finally having me? When you know me inside out, Jareth, in all the ways you can. How will you see your pretty little human then, one that you’ve seen can never change further? What then? What fascination will it hold for you then, Goblin King? Let’s see if you still think that way after a hundred years. Or even twenty. Hell, _ten_.”

With that, the music paused, and she extricated herself from his embrace, not trusting herself to hear his reply when her vision sparkled golden like this. If he even had one to make. Sarah moved through the crowd, at last escaping to the back hallways of the castle, where the walls were honest sandstone and the chitter of goblins could be heard somewhere nearby. She crossed her arms and hugged herself, taking deep breaths, trying not to think about how that one girl with the violet hair would look with a chair smashed into her pretty elfin face. There were even more far-reaching consequences to her anger now and she would do well to remember that.

She never heard Jareth, only felt his arms around her. He should not have left the ballroom, should not have abandoned their guests. When she would’ve jerked away, he pulled her closer against his body. “My Sarah, my Champion, my Queen,” he murmured, his voice rough. “How can you be so wise and so foolish at the same time? I am _your_ King, Sarah. Yours, and yours, and yours, until the end of time. No other can tempt me, and all I want for ten and twenty and hundred hundred years is _you_. ” With that he kissed her neck, squeezing her more tightly.

Biting her lip, Sarah fought the shudder that was trapped in her chest, the tears of frustration and hurt welling in her eyes. Wanting to hate the relief she felt at his reassurances, she found she couldn’t. It was so very like the child she had been to have risen to the bait of jealousy, though the threat she had felt had been all too real. Very, _very_ rarely was she shaken from the things she wanted these days, but this… What the hell was _wrong_ with her? She had thought herself ready to handle anything his world could dish out. And here she was, breaking over one evening of being presented to the younger ones of his kind. Looking back over the things she’d witnessed in her own world, the situations she’d faced down within her job, this should have been simple. Almost relaxing. And yet…

“You’re saying this now, Jareth. It sounded good lying there in bed, in our own little world in the Underground, but how the hell are we going to make this _work_? We’re idiots to think that there’s a chance in hell that I’m right for this part of things. I’m in over my head and we both know it. Maybe … I don’t know… Maybe making me an obvious part of all of this, trying to make me visible as Queen, was a…” It stung her heart to say the things that roared through her mind, but holding them back wasn’t an option, either.

When Jareth spoke, his voice was stern. “If you say ‘mistake’, my Sarah, I will _bite you_. And while our guests can certainly think of an obvious explanation for why we would both be absent, they would be shocked if you returned with a bleeding ear.” He did nip at her then, worrying her earlobe with a growl worthy of Didymus.

Sarah tipped her head away, shrugging her shoulders to loosen his grip. “Stop that. I feel like a fool, Jareth. It’s one thing to be your Queen and the Champion here in the Underground. It’s another thing to have to deal with all of _them_. Before you told me about it, I hadn’t planned to deal with anything outside the Labyrinth. I never even knew for sure how much wider the world was within the Underground. I … I didn’t sign up for this part of it, Jareth.” Just to make a tally of the ways she was hating herself, this admission assigned itself as well.

“You signed up for me, and all I entail, as I signed up for you and your world and all that you are. I cannot believe you are so unsettled by that pack of feckless fops. Sarah, you bested a king in his own realm, and you quail before a bunch of petty nobles?” he asked, disbelieving.

“I told you, I never expected to be on display to your kind, Jareth! Not until you told me after I agreed! And to make it all worse, they’re all _laughing_ at me, Jareth,” Sarah snapped, turning in his embrace to glare at him. Yes, the honesty of what she’d been feeling in the last few weeks was edging its way to the top of the failure list in her mind. Leave it to him to not understand something like this. Arrogance being his gift, he’d likely never felt this way, ever.  “I don’t know if it’s my physical age, or the fact that I’m not your standard faerie-ring-kidnapped teenager any longer, or if they all just think it’s a great joke, having a human queen here. It could even be our past. But they’re sizing me up, and finding me wanting, and more than a few of them would like to try my crown and throne on for size. Or at least try _you_ on. Likely for the second time or more. Despite years of having a shot before I showed up. Don’t try to tell me there’s not an ex or two or two dozen out there.”

“I would never lie to you, Sarah. Yes, there are some here tonight who have warmed my bed in years past—or I warmed theirs. But it is _you_ who rule my kingdom and share my throne, Sarah. And _only_ you sharing my bed. That is very much to my satisfaction, as none of them is your equal.” He gave her another squeeze then. “As for their laughter, they are fae. When we feel ourselves over-matched, we mock rather than show our weakness. I would think you had learned that of me. Did I not scold and scorn you, trying to keep you from laying waste to my realm and my heart?”

He caught her chin then, not allowing her to hide the broken confidence the way she’d like. Knowing the way that her lower lip trembled, Sarah felt a brief flash of hatred. She tried to pull out of his grip; worse for him to have seen the anger in her eyes give way to insecurity. Fury, _that_ she could handle him seeing. Hot and furious words, slammed doors, the loud sound of her boot heels clacking down the corridor away from him, all of that was just fine. Watching her struggle? There wasn’t a shame worse to her. As much as she loved him, showing weakness outside of their time alone was something she refused to do. It was a painful to meet his eyes, knowing what he’d see there. Her pride burned. And this was how she planned to meet forever? The outlook didn’t look so good at the moment.

But he spoke the truth about himself. He had always talked a good game, then and now. As long as she had known him, he’d shown the same behavior pattern. Taking a deep breath, trying to quell her tangled emotions and that haze in her eyes, Sarah examined the situation in light of that knowledge. She’d fallen for it, however briefly. Had she _really_ entertained the thought of giving him up over this? He was right; the pair of them were a curiosity at the moment, a novelty for a variety of reasons. They _were_ measuring her, sizing her up. The fact struck her now even as he spoke.

Jareth spoke then in a soothing murmur, half abashed at admitting his own faults, but willing her to see the rest of his kind with the same flinty eye she sometimes turned on him. “Sarah, Sarah, they are doing the same, for they see in you a threat. The once-exiled king now has a queen of strength and courage and rare beauty at his side. And you are a Champion of the Labyrinth as well, a warrior whose cunning and determination are unmatched. They are right to fear you.”

Another deep breath, this one actually managing to calm her. As sweet as his phrasing was, it was true. She wasn’t some shrinking violet to allow _anyone_ , mortal or fae, to ride herd over her. Enough of this foolishness. Closing her eyes to steady herself, clearing her headspace of all her doubts, she felt the stronger when she opened them. Now, the golden shimmer had retreated again and she gave a sigh of relief. “Which is your way of saying to get my cowardly ass back in there.” Her lips curled in a smirk, tilting her head to look up at him with eyes that were deadly serious. “But I mean it, Jareth. You gave that heart to me and I mean to keep them from even prying it out of my cold, dead hands.” She couldn’t resist adding, “Because it’s only forever, you know. And for my will is as strong as yours…”

“Forever is not long enough to love you,” he told her, smiling though his gaze was solemn. “My heart is yours for as long as it beats, Sarah. Even beyond that, into the shadowed lands of death. Anyone who dared try to take your place in my regard would quickly discover their folly. Owls mate for life, after all.”

She managed a smile for him with that, knowing he wouldn’t be content until he got it. One of many things that had changed these days. There was a beat and Sarah, giving a heavy sigh, wound her arms around his neck. “Yeah, I get the feeling somehow that I might love you, too.” Burying her face in his shoulder, she gave herself a chance to settle and just absorb some of his affection. It was rare that she found herself this off-balance these days, and it was embarrassing to do it in front of him, but she felt it had been justified this time. She knew better now, would map out a better strategy for dealing with it going forward. She wasn’t going to lose face again.

Another kiss, this time to her brow. “And if you worry that all of those beauties above are some sort of competition for you, remember this. I have lived my entire life among the fae, among such lovely faces and sparkling eyes. They seem exotic to you, but they are the backdrop of my childhood and exile. _You_ are the rarest, most precious jewel here. Your mortality is incandescent within you, a beautiful flame burning in your gaze by which all of them would seek to warm themselves, were they not so threatened by you.”

“So what happens if we go through with this? All the way?” It had a been a question forced to the back of her mind since they had first started negotiations as to her staying, one she was almost afraid of the answer to. Her voice was low when she asked it. She closed her eyes again then, memorizing the feel of his lips against her skin. It took her breath away for a moment to realize how much that thought hurt. She had never expected, even in their most intimate moments in those dreams, to love him as she did now. “What happens when I’m not mortal, anymore? What happens when I’m just another one of _them_? What happens when that girl, that fierce little girl you loved so much, is just as jaded as the rest, Jareth?”

He did think about it, wrapping her up in his embrace while he pondered. “You will never be one of them,” Jareth said at last. “Wedding me will give you longevity, and let you keep your youth and strength far past the years when mortal age would leach them from you. But who and what you are will never change. I doubt very much that even centuries could make you less fierce, my love. As for jaded … I doubt that, too. There is too much wonder in the world.”

 _Just like everything between us. It comes down to belief in the end. Always belief._ Sarah leaned away a bit, looking up at him. “You’re that sure of me? You trust me a lot more than I trust myself.”

“Of course.” A roguish smile then, and he added, “I can _always_ trust you to be yourself, Sarah. No amount of enchanted peaches could change _that_.”

Just as he knew it would, Sarah’s whole expression changed. As did the weight on her heart, gone like smoke as she burst out laughing. Leave it to him to phrase it like that at a time like this. What had been a bone of contention between them in years past had become almost a running joke, usually earning him an elbow in the side. Now she only wrinkled her nose at him, the glare in her eyes far more gentle now than earlier. “Shut up, Your Majesty,” she muttered, playfully shoving him away from her. “You really are the worst, you know that? It will never end with that peach, will it? I should have known better. I really should have. _‘We must not look at goblin men’_ …”

“You’ve tasted more than goblin fruit, Sarah, and if you know that poem, you’ll recall that the second taste is the cure for the first.” His grin was wicked, made more so by her scornful pout at him, and Jareth’s hand at her waist slipped down to give her hip an affectionate squeeze. “Come now, my Sarah. Show these petty nobles how a queen deals with jealous courtiers. Hold your proud head high, and pity them their fears. For none of them could ever win me from you.”

Jareth leaned in and kissed her brow again. “Besides, you are the rightful Queen of Umardelin, you won your place when you defeated my Labyrinth, not once but _twice_. I have no hope of keeping my kingdom unless I have you by my side, my love.”

She had to smile again, that he would take that tack with it, when he’d held the realm on his own for quite some time before he even knew she existed. Nevertheless, she let him flatter her. As usual, he’d chosen the right words for the situation and her fears were now dust and shadows revealed for what they were. Taking what felt like her thousandth deep breath of the hour, Sarah straightened her spine, chin rising to look up at him. _They don’t get to win. Not after the hell I went through to be here. This was my victory, and it always_ _ **will**_ _be. No one can take it from me. I won’t_ _ **let**_ _them._ Reaching up to right her circlet, she nodded solemnly , locking her emotions back down. Not a hair out of place, not a doubt troubling her brow. Turning in his arms, Sarah stepped back and caught his elbow. Though her eyes still sparkled with mischief, her face was utter calm. As the Queen of Umardelin should be. Above all of their foolishness. “Lead on, Goblin King. Let’s teach them that the rulers of this kingdom could care less. They didn’t affect us before; why should they now?”

Tucking her hand more neatly into the crook of his elbow, Jareth favored her with a dazzling smile that reached all the way to his mismatched eyes. “Most true, my Queen. Let us go forth and _rule_. After all, for one such as you, it should be…” The smile became a smirk, wicked and wonderful, as he lead her back to the ballroom. “… a piece of _cake_.”

Those who had come to take their measure, to see if this  _ human _ would make a worthy queen, or if the king could be swayed from her, turned as one when the pair reentered the ball. They could not help but look, for Sarah arrived laughing, her head thrown back and her dark hair spilling down her back like an inky waterfall. And her king’s eyes on her were full of such admiration and devotion that a hundred hopes of replacement died on the instant.

Lyselle saw them, too, and hatred burned in her belly like poison.

 


	8. Though She Be Little

Jareth was not as much a fool as Sarah sometimes thought him to be. He did, after the Champion’s Ball was finished, tell her about Lyselle. Just not immediately. There was a rather predictable aftermath of renewed possession and dedication in light of her jealousy of earlier, and he much preferred  _ that _ to an argument.

Cuddled up to him in bed, Sarah looked so content with herself that he almost put off the conversation. That might backfire, though, so he nuzzled her brow until she looked up at him. “You mentioned that there were those at the ball who had warmed my bed,” he told her.

“I did, but why bring it up now?” she asked, those green eyes losing their blissful starriness to narrow daggers at him.

“Because one of them in particular hates me now, and is so in love with her anger that she could not bear to hide it beneath pretty words. We fae are normally good at controlling our reactions and pretending courtesy to those we’d like to flay and salt. That she did not … worries me.” It hadn’t worried him so much at the time, but Lyselle’s insults had stung more deeply than he liked to admit, even to himself. Now that he reflected, he saw the edge of madness in her eyes, and felt ashamed for having let her goad him.

Still, the situation might not be beyond saving,  _ if  _ he were wise, and if he kept his Champion well informed. Jareth sighed and ran a hand through his tousled hair before voicing his other main worry. “Also, it would have delighted her to think you were concerned, even for a moment. I do not ever want to give her that satisfaction.”

There was a disquieting pause of tense silence from Sarah, her expression deceptively neutral as she looked up at him. “Who was it?” she said, in that too-calm voice of hers.

“Lyselle of Galeraessian,” he told her. And when he saw no recognition in her eyes, Jareth added, “She has violet hair…” 

Sarah cut him off with a snarl, pulling away from him in a temper, but didn’t leave the bed. Instead, she only sat up and glared at him. “It  _ was _ her.  _ That’s _ where the damn feeling came from. I thought so. It was her earlier, the one that had me so pissed at you and the rest of them. Dammit, Jareth. Was she trying to get back into your pants while you were dancing? Because the two of you seemed to be having a very  _ intense  _ conversation.”

He couldn’t help laughing, despite her anger. “It was intense. She was mostly bent on trying to convince me I was a fool to choose you – which only proves that  _ she _ is the fool. I told her otherwise rather forcefully, and I got the last word. I’m afraid that her denigration of you provoked me to the point where I set out to wound her, and succeeded.”

“Great. Angry, bitchy ex. Should’ve expected that. And she’s ridiculously gorgeous. Somehow I should’ve expected that, too. I said it earlier and I mean it. We’ve danced around this for fifteen years; I didn’t do this with you for all that time just to end up alone after. I swear, Jareth, if I ever catch you with her or anyone else, certain parts of you are gonna _stay_ inside them. ”

She probably expected him to be angered by the threat to his manhood. Instead, Jareth kissed her despite her toothy grimace. He treasured her fierceness, even when leveled at himself. “I expect no less of you, my Sarai. And would deserve no different, were I so stupid as to betray you so. As for beauty, you outshine her in every way. Lyselle is a pretty child, and has been for far too long. You are a woman and a champion, a warrior and a savior, and even if you looked like a goblin you would be a thousand times the woman she can ever hope to be.”

That made her laugh, finally, and Jareth kissed her again, catching her wrists and gently attempting to pull her back to him. “Do you truly think so little of your own beauty, Sarah? I know you have mirrors Above. Look into them more often.”

Muttering under her breath, Sarah gave a roll of her eyes before she gave in and snuggled back down beside him again, giving an almost petulant sigh of aggravation as she nestled her head on his shoulder. “These days, mostly what I see in the mirror is where the wrinkles are gonna start and the shadows that stay under my eyes. Oh, and that I need to pluck my eyebrows.”

Jareth made as if to kiss her brow, and lightly nipped her skin, getting a startled yelp in response. “Do not change one hair, Sarah. You are  _ perfect _ . At fifteen you were a rosebud, all promise cloaked in the softness and innocence of youth. Now your beauty is in full flower. No fae can look into your eyes and fail to see that. Besides, your brows give you some of your most emphatic expressions. I would not have you change them to suit some silly standard of beauty that never looks natural.”

“Says the man with the up-swept perfectly-maintained fae brows,” Sarah muttered, though there was a faintly affectionate smile on her lips as she reached up to trace one with a fingertip.

“That’s natural, for me. The blame belongs to my father. It’s a trait of his bloodline.” Jareth rumpled her hair affectionately. 

Sarah propped herself up on one elbow. “Your parents are on their way, right? You haven’t really told me much about them.”

Jareth curled a lock of her hair around his finger. “Like my grandparents, it is quite the tale. I will tell it to you, love, but not this moment. Suffice it to say, you will adore my mother, and she will feel the same about you. My father will certainly approve of you, as well, but he will not show it so readily. For the rest of their story, I will let you meet them both first. They tell it better than I do.”

Sarah pouted at him. “Not even a spoiler?”

Jareth nuzzled her forehead. “Hmm … my father kidnapped my mother, originally. It most emphatically did  _ not  _ go as he’d planned.”

“Oh come on!” Sarah exclaimed, but he would say nothing else on the matter. Indeed, he much preferred to return to convincing her that no other woman could possibly hold his attention, not when he had lovely Sarah in his bed.

 


	9. Love's Labors Transposed

**Just because Jareth would not tell Sarah the tale, dear readers, does not mean** _**you** _ **should be deprived as well.**

 

…

 

The daughter of Queen Iswyniel and Jarrek the Owl-born was named Cadelinyth, though often called Della by her father. She was fair-haired, and as she grew it became apparent that her mother’s rose-tinted blonde and her father’s cream-and-gold (the same shades his feathers had been) were mingled in her long pale locks. Cadelinyth’s eyes were primarily the same cornflower blue of her mother’s, but each iris had a splash of dark gray. The effect might have been unsettling, to humans; to the fae it was intriguing. And lovely.

Iswyniel taught her daughter everything she would need to know to rule: statecraft, stewardship, politics, etiquette, comportment, and magic. Cadelinyth was a dutiful student, and under her mother’s eye she behaved like a proper well-born young lady.

She was frustrated, though, by Jarrek’s teachings, which the young girl loved far more. He took his daughter out into the forest, showed her which plants would nourish her and which were poison and which would heal. He taught her to climb trees and the tower’s walls, how to mark her trail through the woods and find her way home without a map or guide. Under his tutelage, she learned to tame the birds and beasts of the wild not with magic, but with compassion and patience.

Iswyniel did not gainsay her daughter. She herself had had enough of being told what to do and how to do it and whom to obey, when she was a child. So long as Cadelinyth consented to learn what her mother deemed important, she was free to study her father’s knowledge as well. They had certain things in common, among them a fey sense of humor, that Iswyniel could sometimes only look on with perplexity.

And Cadelinyth grew. Like all fae children, she matured young, growing in self-sufficiency each day, or so it seemed to her mother. Still, she was inherently a sweet child, a delight to both her parents.

Her thirteenth nameday was a grand celebration, and on that day Iswyniel had her first premonition of trouble ahead. Her daughter wanted to wear a gown of her own design, and Jarrek had already agreed to it, so Iswyniel could only impose a few limitations on such things as the length of skirt and tightness of bodice. She had no wish to see her daughter grow up _too_ fast, and neighboring nobles would attend the party as well. 

Yet when Cadelinyth arrived at the party, Iswyniel’s best hopes and worst fears were realized. Her daughter had worn a gown of flowing blue silk in many shades, which lightly brushed the ground when she walked and was as conservative as any nervous mother could wish. But Cadelinyth herself—she was a beauty, and in her still baby-soft face Iswyniel saw the shadow of the woman she would become.

Iswyniel had had a taste of the fates of beautiful women, and she could imagine the nobles calculating her daughter’s bridal gifts even now. She kept her head throughout the party, smiled for her daughter’s sake, and brushed off her husband’s questions.

Another mother might have penned her daughter up in an ivory tower somewhere, safe from the desiring eyes of men. But Iswyniel did not wish to make her child a captive. Instead, she raised the walls of her kingdom, grew very strict about who was allowed to visit, and banned any discussion of courtship. Any prince or messenger who dared broach the subject was summarily ejected from the kingdom, dumped outside the gates by magic.

And yet, the stories of Cadelinyth’s beauty grew in the telling, until only the truth of her loveliness surpassed them. Iswyniel herself was of very high birth, as well as queen in her own right, and it seemed to her that every unmarried man in all the kingdoms saw her child as a stepping-stone, a bride who would bring him both greater nobility and her fabled beauty.

She would not, she swore many times to many gods, see her daughter sold like chattel to some lord who valued her face and her blood more than her  _self_ .

Her attempts to caution her daughter were distressingly laughed off. “Oh, Mother,” Cadelinyth finally said. “Father taught me long ago how to deal with unwanted attentions from men.”

“Did he now?” Iswyniel asked, wondering what sovereign spell Jarrek had given her against such suitors.

Cadelinyth smiled, the expression that too many poets already compared to a sunrise, and said cheerfully, “Punch them in the throat, then kick them in the fork.  _Then_ call for you or him or the guards.”

Such vulgar advice left Iswyniel flabbergasted—but she could not help a flicker of grudging admiration. Had she been so self-confident at Cadelinyth’s age, and so accustomed to the sort of sparring that Jarrek included in his tutelage, perhaps her first husband would not have subdued her so easily. But then, she’d made certain that Cadelinyth had many advantages she had lacked.

When the girl was almost twenty, she was a legendary figure amongst poets and minstrels, much to Iswyniel’s chagrin. She banned all love-songs from her kingdom, and anyone found composing verse to her daughter’s beauty was summarily ejected much as the suitors were. In all of this, Jarrek had said only, “We strive most for that which is out of reach,” but Iswyniel could think of no other way to protect her child, and he did not gainsay her. She knew that he, too, feared for their daughter, but his answer was to teach her to handle a sword, dirk, and bow.

Now, many leagues away there lived a king who had heard of Cadelinyth, and coveted her beauty. He also coveted her bloodline. His land was rich, but not in magic, and his family were very distantly related to the high kings. A marriage to the sorceress’ daughter would bring him legitimacy … and what man didn’t crave a lovely woman?

King Deruthiel of Etaron devised a plan. He had his Captain of the Guard search out a dozen young guardsmen who were loyal, honorable … and could either sing or play an instrument. He had them tutored in music, and saw to it that some of the finest bards in the land composed new ballads of battles and court-intrigue and tales of rulers who had won their kingdoms from the wilds. Romantic ballads, he was careful to leave out of their repertoire. There were at least two songs celebrating Iswyniel herself, and one, composed by someone who did not know its patron, about Deruthiel’s own deeds.

When he was satisfied that his guards-turned-troubadours were talented enough to do justice to their songs, and perhaps to catch a queen’s ear, he gathered the best six of them together and told them of his plan. Each man was geas-bound to remember their honor, as well. Deruthiel knew that a beautiful woman was often temptation, and he spent coin and favor he could not truly spare to have an outsider craft the geas. Should any of his minstrel-guards try to set amorous hands on the lovely Cadelinyth, his hands would fall off … along with a few other parts he might miss even more. Such a fearsome promise proved the gravity of the situation to them.

They traveled great distances to Iswyniel’s kingdom, which was called Astolwyr, and played their songs in taverns along the way. As Deruthiel had hoped, the group of players was invited to the castle, and sang for the great sorceress herself.

And also for her lovely daughter, who took a lively enjoyment in the performance, or so he was told later. The six men were guests of the castle, and soon found an opportunity to fulfill their mission. Iswyniel scheduled a hunt, to which her daughter insisted on riding, and it was an easy matter for his troubadours to waylay Cadelinyth on her way home.

Deruthiel had crafted one more spell, at even greater cost, and it allowed the six to return immediately to his kingdom with the captive princess. He met her not in the throne room, but in the grand foyer of his castle, and barely noticed that his men seemed rather the worse for wear. They all had their hands, and the princess was indignant but unafraid. That was all that mattered to him. “You are being a very great fool,” she told him, without bothering to curtsy.

He bowed, instead, to her. “All men are fools for love, my lady.”

She laughed at him. “Love? Sir, you have never met me ere this moment. You could not possibly love me. Although by playing such a game, you show that you love yourself perhaps too dearly.”

He had not expected such candor or such fearlessness from her, and was taken aback by it. She saw the startled look in his eyes, and smiled—not the sweet, shy smile of a fair maiden, but the triumphant look of a queen. In that moment, Deruthiel knew he simply _had_ to have her. He also knew that winning her would not be easy.

Cadelinyth looked around her, pointedly paying no attention to his guards. “A lovely prison, at least.”

“You are no prisoner, Princess Cadelinyth, but an honored guest,” Deruthiel protested. “My castle and my kingdom are at your disposal.”

A fine gold-blonde brow arched at his statement. “Is that so? And if I ask for a carriage and swift horses, to return to my home?”

Deruthiel managed not to look  _too_ chagrined in front of his men. “That, I cannot allow.”

“So I am a prisoner, then,” she replied, still fearless.

“Captive, perhaps, in the sense of a captive audience,” Deruthiel told her. “Your mother, as any good mother, seeks to protect you from all harm, and permits no one to court your favor. She has left me no way to press my suit other than this desperate measure of bringing you here, and showing you the kingdom that I mean to offer you.”

“How very romantic,” Cadelinyth said, a touch of acid in her tone. “Very well, Thief-King, make your offer.”

The cruel jest struck him, but he kept his temper reined in. She had a right to scold him for kidnapping her, and no reason at all to trust him. Deruthiel intended to prove his trustworthiness in the coming days and weeks. It would take a month or two, at least, for the sorceress-queen to marshal her army and reach his lands.

In the time that allowed him, he paid court to Cadelinyth. Her chambers in his castle were beautifully appointed, and attended by the most capable and intelligent maids he could find. His tailors and dressmakers were at her disposal, seeking to charm her with glorious gowns. His cooks served up fare worthy of feast-days for every meal. She sat at his right hand during meals, and he engaged her in conversation, trying to find out what her interests were so that he could meet them.

He had some luck, at least. They discovered a shared passion for a certain style of poetry, rather out of fashion at court presently but still pleasing to the ear and heart. Deruthiel showed her his library, and with some pain at the parting presented her with several volumes in that style, ones she had not yet read. That was the first time he saw open delight in her eyes, untainted by wariness.

That wariness—never fear, just caution—disturbed him. Perhaps she thought he meant to seduce her. Deruthiel was not so much a fool as that. It would advance his claim not at all, and might cost him dearly. A mother like hers would burn his kingdom down if she suspected her daughter had in any way been coerced. No, if he were to bed Cadelinyth, it would be by her own choice—and by  _her_ initiation. 

That was not so unheard of as it would be in a tale of human kings and princesses. Virginity was not a prized trait in fae brides; though it was a very great honor to introduce anyone, man or woman, to pleasure for the first time, it was not expected that anyone would keep chaste until marriage. Deruthiel did not know, or particularly care, if some other man had taken Cadelinyth’s maidenhead. His goal was her hand in marriage.

He _did_ desire her, though. She was so lovely, no one could have resisted that. When they danced together, his heart thundered, and when she chanced to smile at him, his head felt lighter than a dandelion puff. With about as much wit in it, he feared, but Cadelinyth only mocked him gently when he found himself tongue-tied. He thought she was coming to appreciate him.

Their days had fallen into a rhythm, and to break the pattern, Deruthiel organized a hunt. He knew that Cadelinyth could ride well, and she set the tailors to craft suitable clothing for the day. On the morning they were to set out, she met him at the stables, where his stallion was saddled beside the finest mare in his kingdom.

Cadelinyth, though, shook her head. “Do you mean to send me a-hunting on a palfrey, King ‘Thiel?” she asked, using the irksome diminutive form of his name that had become her trademark.

“She is an excellent mare, sure-footed and fleet as the wind,” he protested.

“And mild as milk,” Cadelinyth said, patting the mare’s shoulder. “A lovely creature, true, but a horse with some fire in his blood is better for hunting.” So saying, she hiked her skirts to reveal that she’d worn breeches beneath, and vaulted into the saddle of _his_ charger.

That red-roan beast, named Garafin, certainly had fire in his blood. Only by much patience and firmness had Deruthiel tamed him to ride, and he was still much too hot for any lady—or most men, who didn’t fancy a ride that was half battle. Garafin reared and pawed the sky, but Cadelinyth laughed, holding tight to his mane. “Easy, my handsome one,” she crooned, stroking his neck when he dropped back to earth. “Tell your master to come along, we are both impatient for the hunt.”

Speechless, Deruthiel could only mount the horse his grooms quickly brought forward, a gelding with speed and courage but none of Garafin’s wildness. The moment he was in the saddle, his huntsman blew the horn and loosed the hounds.

The hunt was exhilarating. Cadelinyth kept her seat, and Garafin answered to her light touch on the reins. Watching the two of them gallop flat-out and then jump a stone wall in a bold, soaring leap, Deruthiel knew he was in love. And knew that he loved not the long, lustrous hair or the deep, knowing eyes or the perfect rosebud mouth that had first drawn him to Cadelinyth. He loved the sly humor in her smile, the challenge in her gaze, and the playful joy in her laughter.  _I am doomed,_ he thought, but could not despair when she called over her shoulder, “Do try to keep up, ‘Thiel!”

It was a good hunt, in that it left his larders well-provisioned with venison, and also in that every kill was made cleanly and quickly, and no one was hurt. The only casualty was one of his minor nobles, who in trying to keep pace with Cadelinyth had been unhorsed and sent flying into a bog. That young man was still picking waterweed out of his teeth, and his splendid riding coat was surely ruined, but so infectious was Cadelinyth’s happiness that even he was chuckling at the spectacle he’d made.

Cadelinyth dismounted, and stood for a moment at Garafin’s head, scratching under his jaw. The hot-blooded, fierce stallion stretched out his neck and whinnied contentment, his eyes half-closed. Deruthiel approached them both, and rested his hand on his mount’s shoulder. For all Garafin’s faults, the red roan was his favorite.

“I’d meant to make a present of the mare,” he said to Cadelinyth. “But I see now that Garafin suits you more. He is yours, my lady.”

The joy in her expression did not dim, but she grew serious. “He is your personal mount, sire. I meant only to tweak your nose and show you I am no delicate flower to be coddled. Never to take him from you.”

“Yet I would give him to you,” Deruthiel insisted, with a little roughness of loss in his voice. “Yes, he has been my pride since the day I finally convinced him to accept a saddle, but I have rarely seen a horse and rider so well-suited to one another. He was … he was everything a horse should be, under your hands, and happier than he ever was in mine. If you take nothing else from my kingdom, Princess Cadelinyth, take Garafin, I beg of you.”

She reached out to him, her hand light on his forearm. “You speak with the song of the huntsman’s horn in your ears, and I would not give you cause to regret it. I cannot accept so princely a gift made on even so noble an impulse, though I do honor the heart that makes the offer. You have my thanks, Your Majesty.”

“I preferred ‘Thiel,” he said, unexpected even to himself, and then continued, “Or even Thief-King. I would not have you speak to me as a courtier.”

“Very well, ‘Thiel,” she said, and smiled again. “You still have my thanks, under any name. And my friends call me Della.”

That day marked a change in their relationship. Her wariness evaporated, and she sought him out. They talked for long hours in his study, discussing poetry and hunting and court life. Cadelinyth—Della, as he now called her—had no taste for gossip, but she did have a keen eye and a deeper understanding of fae foibles than he would’ve expected from a sheltered young woman. Sometimes their discussions were more than half argument; she had a mind and opinions of her own, and no fear of disagreeing with Deruthiel. To her he was not the king and master of the realm and castle, he was simply Thiel, her friend and suitor. After the eager and eternal approval of his courtiers, Della was a welcome difference, as a splash of strong wine after too many cloying sweet cordials, and he loved her even more for it.

Deruthiel did not, yet, openly ask her hand in marriage. It was too soon, he felt, and he enjoyed their courtship. He knew her mother must be planning a rescue … but to his shock, it came without the slightest warning. One day he was planning an excursion to the lake, where Della boasted she could captain a team of rowers and outrace him across its length.

The next, there was an army at his borders, and an armor-clad envoy outside his castle gate. “We demand that you release the princess!” the man boomed, and five others at his back stood silent on their horses, but their hands were close to their swords.

His guards notified him, and he was so shocked he did not upbraid them for laxity. Perhaps he had no reason; the queen of Astolwyr was a mighty sorceress, after all. Deruthiel rushed to Cadelinyth’s side, took her hands, and fell to his knees. She cocked her head and stared at him, waiting.

“Della, my love, please forgive me,” he began, and urgency granted him eloquence where his tongue had often stumbled in her presence. “I meant to offer you a proposal worthy of your brilliance, your courage, your kindness, and your beauty. I had such plans, an arbor being built with your favorite flowers trained to climb its walls, and minstrels to sing your favorite poems, and my best wines to celebrate what I hoped would be your acceptance.

“All of that is for naught. Your royal mother’s army stands ready to invade and take you back by force, and armed envoys stand at the gate awaiting my answer. I had hoped that in time you would come to see me as a man with whom you might spend your life, and accept my troth for that. Instead, I find myself hoping that you might have come to love me. You mocked me once, when we first met, for thinking I loved you then, before I knew you. I should have seen that as a warning, for I have fallen more in love with you than I ever dreamed possible. I have no wish to harm a single hair on the head of the least soldiers in Astolwyr’s army.”

She squeezed his hands gently. “Then release me, Thiel. It is as simple as that.”

He bowed his head, pressing her knuckles against his brow. “If only it were! Della, I believe you would return to me if I did so—pray do not disillusion me if I am wrong—and all would be resolved. For now. My noble neighbors would hear that I surrendered meekly, and in a month, or a year, they would come for my kingdom. I am no sorcerer like your mother to wall them out with spells. I have only bronze swords and men to bear them, and those men will desert me if they think me craven.”

“Is it craven, to return what you have stolen once you know its true worth?” she asked.

“No, milady, but I fear they would not see it so.” Deruthiel looked up, and saw only calm poise in her gaze. “I have reached too far above my station, I understand that now. But if I turn back, I will lose all, and who will protect my people against my neighbors, or whichever of my men leads the mutiny? I cannot surrender you to your parents. If you do not accept my pledge, it will be a battle.”

He swallowed, and his pride broke. “Please, Della, I beg of you. Come to the balcony with me, say yes before your mother’s envoys, and let us end this without bloodshed.  _Please._ ”

“I will go with you,” she said, and relief lightened him. He held her hand all the way to the balcony.

Looking down at her mother’s envoys, and seeing the army beyond his gates, Deruthiel spoke with confidence. “Honored lords, there is no cause for battle,” he called out. “Instead, carry word to your queen that we should prepare a feast! Behold your princess, safe in my care and glad of my company. Let her royal parents come, too, and hear what their beloved daughter has to say.”

It took only moments for the dread sorceress and her husband to ride forth, with more guards. When they stood beneath his castle, he turned to Cadelinyth. Softly, he murmured, “I apologize for all that has gone before, for making you a captive, for this moment being less than I wished it would. But it cannot be helped. I was a fool, though I am wiser now, and I say this with my heart’s truth, not as courting words: Della, I love you.” And then, raising his voice, he called out for those below to hear, “Now, my lady. In sight of your parents and the gods, give me your answer. Will you be my bride?”

Della put her hand on his arm, and looked somberly up at him. Raising her voice, she called out, “You have been a most gracious host, and I treasure the love you bear me. The only answer I can give to your question is…”

All the courtyard went silent, and Deruthiel was keenly aware of the sorceress’ eyes upon him. Then joy broke in Della’s smile, and her sweet voice sang out, “I will consider it.”

He blinked. She was supposed to say yes, smiling like that with such affection she should have said yes, he meant to ask her what in all the realms she was doing … and then she silenced him with a kiss. Just a brush of lips across his own, and Della murmured, “Ask me again in a year, ask me in my own kingdom, and I shall answer as you wish. But my dear Thiel, one thing you must understand: I was _never_ your captive.”

And while he stood stunned, she turned and took a light-footed leap to the railing. Deruthiel heard someone cry out “ _NO!_ ” and realized it was himself, just before Della launched herself out and over the long drop. He damned near went over himself, trying to grab her.

Only to see a gold-winged owl soaring away from his tower. Down below, her mother held up one arm, and the owl landed on it, ruffling her feathers. He gaped; he could not help it. The owl hopped off the queen’s arm, and landed on her feet as his Della. Laughing, but not cruelly. “Come to me in Astolwyr, my king!” she called, and one of her mother’s soldiers dismounted for her to take his horse.

The sorceress looked at her smiling daughter, then looked up at him with eyes that were flat with hatred. Deruthiel realized that all his soldiers and gates meant nothing, if this woman was his enemy, but the queen did not strike. “It appears my daughter has issued an invitation,” the sorceress said. “Very well. Come to us, King Deruthiel, and plead your case to  _me_ , in my stronghold. We shall treat you as well as you’ve treated my precious daughter.” She said no more, but rode away in silence.

Her husband nodded to him once, as he followed, and Cadelinyth waved.

And not for the first time, nor the last, King Deruthiel of Etaron thought,  _I am doomed._

 

…

 

**To be continued…**

 


	10. Of Shadows, Intrigue, and Insurance

Jareth trusted Sarah’s judgment … but he was much too protective to tamely let her mess about with Aboveground fae  _ entirely _ on her own. Neesk claimed to have heard nothing and seen nothing and wasn’t even there when she talked to the strange fae lady, which only proved to Jareth that some of his subjects were choosing to side with her over him. 

That had to be handled, so he took the fox-knight aside. “Sir Didymus, our Sarah is a very brave woman,” he began.

The knight’s mustaches quivered happily. “Of course, sire. The most courageous lady I have ever had the pleasure of meeting. Why, she insisted on facing you alone that first time, though we three would have been glad to aid her!”

“Do remind me of your treason,” Jareth sighed, but when the knight would’ve hesitated, he went on. “She requires guards, for her safety as well as that of any creature foolish enough to anger her. Forthwith, I name you Captain of the Queensguard.”

The promotion startled Didymus, and he saluted after a moment. “It is an honor, sire! I shall protect her with my very life.”

“When Sarai is crowned, she will make your appointment official,” Jareth said confidently. He didn’t expect any resistance from Sarah on this particular matter. Didymus already devoted himself to her well-being; this was merely stating it formally. “As for your company, you may not have Hoggle, for I will not surrender my Royal Gardener. But I suspect Sarai will want to draft Ludo into her service. You may round out the rest of the guardsmen from among my goblins, though Neesk appears to have appointed himself her page. I would prefer that you take the least ambitious of them, as they are less likely to be a threat to her.” That wasn’t precisely true, but he didn’t want to lose the goblins he’d painstakingly taught to be somewhat reliable.

“Of course, sire,” Didymus said, and scampered off to set about rounding up goblins.

That left Jareth to his errand. He tracked down the other goblins that had protected Sarah, and questioned them to get a description of this Alix. Coupled with Sarah’s story, he thought he could find the girl. Still, he was careful to do it when Sarah was at work Above … though when he stepped out into her realm, he found it was night. Perhaps she was asleep, instead. Keeping the time differences straight when it moved fluidly in both worlds was always a trial to him.

He was looking for a green-haired, goat-eyed fae, which told him she was one of the dryad races. The female of the species looked like a beautiful young woman with strange eyes, while the males appeared half goat – fauns or satyrs. This Alix was associated with a club called Imperiale, a cafe near Sarah’s place of business, and also spent time in Central Park. Well, all of the dryads probably spent time there. He couldn’t imagine how a creature so deeply tied to her tree could survive in this concrete-glass-and-steel wasteland without such a place as the park.

Jareth ignored the effort of pushing through Above without invitation; thanks to his bond with Sarah, and the Key she wore, he had ties here as well and could come in his own shape. It cost him, and he felt his power trickling away along his ties to Umardelin. If he needed to, he could call on his kingdom for magic and be answered, but it was disorienting and discomforting to be here.

He stalked, keeping a tight glamour over his appearance and his power. For the moment he looked like an ordinary man, as he charmed directions to the club out of the first person he met – a taxi driver, who also conveyed him there. It cost him a little power, again, as New York mortals were not particularly helpful of their own accord.

It looked as though he might be in luck. The hour was late, and the club appeared closed, though a few people were standing around the front doors. Jareth looked through the glass window of the cab, and let his power rise in him.

One of those at the door was wearing a glamour to disguise her decidedly inhuman features. At first, Jareth had only seen a somewhat disheveled woman in a green dress, but with magic aiding his sight he saw the water-weed tangled in her long, straggly hair, and the way her clothes were just slightly damp despite the cool, dry air. She was a grindylow, of the race called Jenny Greenteeth by mortals. That one was leaving, apparently just a guest and not a part of the club. Still, her presence established that this was the correct place.

The owner of the establishment would not be out front, so Jareth had the cabbie drop him off a few blocks away. As the owl, he soared back, silent and practically invisible above the streetlights. He found the alley behind the club and perched on the wall of the building opposite, watching as the employees left. They were all fae, of a variety of types. Low fae, he noticed, none of his own ilk. There  _ were _ fae of his race Above, but they were the worst sort of exiles, landless, lawless, liars and thieves. A satyr or a pooka might choose to live Above where they wouldn’t have to bow to a king, but the strictly hierarchical high fae only lived here if they were forced out. Jareth found himself feeling grateful that he hadn’t been banished, though those first few years in Umardelin he might’ve preferred the stink of the city over goblin stench.

He saw his target come out, pausing to smoke a cigarette. She was flanked by a couple of tall, dark-skinned fae – not a race he knew, but there were many kinds of fae. By the look of those two, they were of African origin, or perhaps Caribbean. Underground geography was fluid, and no one knew all the fae from regions other than their own. It was irksome, as he couldn’t guess at their abilities, but Jareth felt confident in his own powers.

There were perhaps half a dozen fae around the dryad now, and no one else was coming out of the club. Jareth decided it was time to make his presence known. He soared down from his perch, silent as ever and nigh-invisible outside the pool of light cast by the lamp above the club’s door. Jareth landed in man form, took a deep breath, and dropped  _ all _ his glamours and shields. At the same time, he called on Umardelin, letting a pulse of his kingdom’s might rise through him.

All of the urban fae spun around, the two tall ones dropping their hands to their belts as if they might have weapons hidden there. They could all feel his magic, and the threat and promise that swirled within it. “Hold,” the dryad said, calmly and firmly. All of them obeyed her, somewhat to Jareth’s surprise. Dryads were not known as an ambitious race, and he hadn’t really thought this one might be the leader of her little coterie.

She looked his way, where the iridescence of his magic caught hints of the light, though he was certain she couldn’t see him well. “Leave us,” she told her people.

“Alix,” one of the dark ones started to protest.

The dryad held up a hand. “There is nothing we can do against him. Leave us. I’m the one he wants; better that the rest of you go. If you don’t hear from me by morning, you know what to do.”

Another of the females tossed her head and glared. A merrow, this one, riding in a wheelchair to hide her fish-like tail. Jareth fixed his gaze on that one and let his eyes glow like fire opals in the dark. Still he said no word; none was needed.

The rest slowly moved away, leaving the dryad to face him. She took another drag off her cigarette, then stepped forward, deliberately crossing into the shadows where the light would no longer blind her. “Greetings, King Jareth of Umardelin,” she said courteously, and inclined her head in what was clearly respect, but just as clearly  _ not _ obeisance.

Jareth let himself smirk. On the unclaimed lands, he could not demand that she bow before him unless he wished to establish himself as a contender for this area – and a boor, as well. “Greetings as well, Alix, if that is indeed your name. I see I was expected. Sarah said you were intelligent; I am pleased to find her assessment correct.”

“She is very wise herself, your Sarah,” Alix said, taking another drag off her cigarette. “Do you smoke, Jareth? I would be happy to share.”

Another cunning move. She had used his name and Sarah’s familiarly, though only after establishing that she knew the proper protocol. And she had done so in the context of a casual, friendly offer. This little slip of a nymph meant to show herself his  _ equal _ , in diplomacy if not in magic, and her audacity amused him. “I do not partake of tobacco,” Jareth told her. “Though I appreciate the offer. You know why I am here.”

Alix smiled. She took off the dark glasses and let him look into her eyes, to see the amusement there. “You are protecting someone who is canny enough to protect herself. Still, because you love her, you must make  _ certain _ she isn’t going to consort with the kind of fae who will try to drain her power and tap into your kingdom.”

“You assume much,” Jareth said musingly.

“You love her,” Alix repeated. “She insists that you are _her_ king, yet you are not her _king_. None of your lineage would tolerate that from a thrall. Therefore she is your lover. And if you brought her Underground at her age, she must love you, too. Enough to believe, and to choose freely.”

Jareth suspected that he knew how this one had risen to her position. She appeared innocuous, and dryads were not powerful workers of magic, but her mind sparked quick as summer lightning. He was also rather miffed at Sarah for making their relationship so blatantly clear, and resolved to tweak her nose about it at some point. “There is no point in denying the truth,” Jareth said. “So, since you know who I am and who I love and why I’ve come, surely you know what I want.”

Alix scuffed the tip of her cigarette against the side of the brick wall, knocking off the glowing ember there and tossing the harmless butt into a flowerpot filled with sand. Of course, a dryad would be  _ very _ careful of fire. As Jareth noted that gesture, her other hand dipped to her pocket and came out with a tiny flint blade.

Not a weapon of offense, and he knew it. Still he was surprised that she would jump to this conclusion so quickly. Alix drew a faint line across the ball of her thumb with the flint, and amber blood welled up. “By my blood, I swear I mean no harm to Sarah Williams,” Alix said. “I shall not harm her or hers, nor allow any of my followers to harm her or hers, save only in the extremity of self-defense. My intentions in offering to teach her magic are only to ensure the safety of my own people, and her own safety.”

The thick blood – more like sap – dripped slowly across her hand and off her palm. Jareth watched as the first drop struck the earth; she had picked her place carefully, and there was a gap between the paving stones just there, so the soil could receive her oath. “It is witnessed, it is done,” Jareth intoned, and Alix put her blade away, licking her palm.

There was a pause then; he had no need to threaten her now, and doing so would be unforgivably rude. Her oath showed her intentions, but if he offended her badly enough, he had no doubt this one could find a way around those sworn words to make him rue it. “I appreciate your honesty,” he said at last.

Alix looked at him for a long moment, thoughtful. “We of the low races must trust in one another to survive here. There are too many who choose the fastest road to power, and care not whom they trample in their haste, whether it be friend, foe, or stranger. I and mine do not live that way. It is not worth the cost to our honor.”

So she was building her following by being true to her word. It was the admirable way – also the slow, difficult way. “What is it that you want, Alix?” he asked. “Not of Sarah. You lead your allies for a purpose. What is it?”

Those caprine eyes narrowed, her slotted pupils regarding him warily. “Who are you to me, King of Umardelin, that I owe you an answer?”

“No one,” he responded frankly. “Which is why you can speak freely, and I can believe you. You owe me nothing – yet still I would know. I am to trust you with the one who is most precious to me, after all.”

A little brush of wind stirred around them both, lifting the ends of her hair and playing with the hem of his cloak. “I want to keep my people safe,” Alix finally said. “None of us here are great powers, nor do we have patrons to help us. We are on our own, in a world not made for us, all too aware that a king like yourself could come strolling in and smash us flat. And if we go Underground? We would have to bow and scrape for permission to exist. Some of us cannot endure that anymore. Others were banished from their homes or disowned by their families. So we live here, and make the best of our exile.”

She did not explicitly draw the parallel to his own situation, though since she knew his name, she had to be old enough and well-informed enough to know at least the gist of it. “Too many of my kind forget that we are  _ all _ fae,” Jareth told her. “It is an error which I do my best not to make.”

“I appreciate that,” Alix said. “But you also would not welcome a score of refugees, some of them with unsavory pasts, into your kingdom with open arms. You are not a fool. So I will aid your Sarah, and if we find that you and I can do business on equal footing, then it is all to the good. Otherwise, please understand it is nothing personal, but I would rather spend the next century here scrabbling for ever scrap of power and influence I can acquire by my own wit, than to bend my knee even _once_ to you.”

Jareth nodded. “I see why Sarah approves of you,” he said dryly, and she laughed.

“She is not one to bow, is Sarah,” Alix mused. “Will she take the throne?”

“Yes. Her coronation is fast upon us. The sooner I can make her status official, the happier I will be.”

“I shall send my regards, though I have no desire to attend such a ceremony. I expect the company will be rather too high for my taste.”

“And for mine,” Jareth sighed, which won him another quick smile. The best way to ensure this one’s alliance and neutralize any potential threat was to treat her as she treated others – with honesty and courtesy, but no deference. “Teach her well, Alix. And continue to take care of your people here. That is another thing my kind often forget: a king is nothing without his kingdom.”

“Much luck to you, King of Umardelin,” Alix replied. “I will do my best for Sarah, as I would have done whether you spoke to me or not. Since you love her so, and she loves you, I offer a word of caution. Mine are not the only fae Aboveground. There are two other factions in this city, and their leaders are fools enough to see her as prey. I will do my best to teach her such that she can stand against them _without_ leveling Manhattan.”

He couldn’t help arching a brow, remembering the explosion of goblins Sarah had caused at the end of her second run. Her power was growing daily, too. “If they are so great fools as that, the goblins teach a lasting lesson, if a painful one. And my people trail her  _ everywhere _ . Better, perhaps, that they bite a little courtesy into these other urban fae, than that Sarah herself should happen to them.”

“I will put the word about that she is not to be trifled with,” Alix said. “That her King is a fearsome fae, quick to anger, and best left _out_ of our struggles Above. It may not dissuade them, but it is the truth.”

“I am not so ill-tempered as that, but it is better they believe so,” Jareth replied.

Alix smiled wryly. “And had I tried to meet you with the strength of all my people, rather than speaking sensibly just between us? Or declared that as a mortal and a citizen of this city, one who dwells on  _ my _ territory, Sarah ought by rights be ours? Methinks you would give the very definition of ‘quick to anger’.”

He had to concede the point. “You are not a fool … and neither am I. There is no need to threaten you and yours. I am quite glad it was you who noticed Sarah, and not these others.”

“As am I, King of Umardelin,” Alix said. “As am I.”

That concluded the interview, with a few formal words of leave-taking, and he turned himself back into an owl. Jareth had not explored Sarah’s city very often, mostly winging over whatever part of it she happened to be in at the time. Now he took a leisurely flight, made curious by Alix’s remarks. He could not completely take her at her word that any other fae Aboveground would be hostile, but he would heed the warning and be cautious. Best to try to establish what their territories were, if he could.

He had surprisingly little luck finding fae. The places Jareth would’ve gone, had he been trapped up here, were deserted. When he widened his search to clubs like the one Alix owned, he started to see a few. Low fae, almost all of them, of the sorts that could blend in with humankind fairly easily.

But there had to be a sprinkling of his own race in this city, whether he saw them or not. Jareth wondered who they were, and what they had done to earn such exile. He would have to warn Sarah most carefully of them, for the high fae had the most and strongest magic, even here Above. His only consolation was that none of them, no matter how powerful, could possibly stand against the strength of his kingdom.

 


	11. What Kind of Magic Spell to Use

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Happy Birthday, G!

Sarah had decided to meet Alix after work, since the club was closer to her job than her apartment. That necessitated changing clothes at work, though, and Amy was there late enough to see her touching up her makeup afterward. “Well  _ hello _ ,” the older woman chuckled. “Who’s got a hot date with his lordship, little black dress and all?”

Glancing at her own reflection, Sarah smirked. Amy’s assumption was pretty understandable. The dress – which showed a little cleavage, and ended just above her knee – hugged her curves nicely. Along with her dark hair spilling freely down her back, it made a lovely contrast against her fair skin. She’d looped the key to Umardelin around a plain black velvet choker, and had just changed into ankle-strap heels. The look she was going for was something like ‘corporate Goth’, maybe even a little intimidating, but if you saw it through the lens of ‘date night’ it looked alluring. “Sorry, this isn’t for Jareth. It’s camouflage. I’m meeting a contact at that club down the street, Imperiale.”

“Aha, undercover social worker goes Goth for the night,” Amy said. “Word of advice? Wear that when you _do_ see him next. Black really works for you.”

“I’ll remember that,” Sarah laughed, and finished the look with deep red lipstick.

She caught a cab to the club, where the doorman – who was also fae, Sarah now realized, with pointed ears and almond eyes – recognized her on sight. “Sarah, of Umardelin?” he asked, and when she nodded he waved her inside. “Up the stairs, third floor, second door on the left. Mind your step.”

The stairs were narrow and winding, but Sarah made her way up them easily. The hallways was painted a bland industrial gray, but the door she knocked on was stained wood. And when it opened, the office it revealed was nothing like what she would’ve expected in a club.

A large window let New York’s gray light spill generously into the room, and every horizontal surface seemed to have a plant of some kind. Not just your typical office philodendrons, either. Orchids blushed from atop the small desk to her right, ficus trees in pots flanked the window, and some kind of ornamental vine trailed completely up one wall to the ceiling, where it wrapped around the light fixture. That alone would’ve told her that this office belonged to one of the fae, but the other furnishings were an even better clue.

Not one piece of metal was in evidence. The letter opener on the desk was bone, or maybe antler. The desk itself was antique wood, as were the cabinets against one wall.

Alix herself had opened the door, and waited while Sarah took in the room. “Come in and be welcome,” she said, and smiled at Sarah’s choice of wardrobe. “Love the dress.”

She grinned at the compliment. “Thanks. I didn’t want to look  _ too _ out of place, but I can’t carry off the kinds of stuff I used to wear in my Goth phase.”

The fae woman nodded, waving her to one of two overstuffed leather chairs. “I appreciate your efforts to blend in, but you can wear whatever you please. Comfort is more important than fashion, when learning magic, at least.”

“I’ll remember that. Next time I might turn up in jeans and a t-shirt.” Sarah settled herself, trying not to let any hint of nerves show. She wasn’t quite sure what learning magic would entail, but the last time she’d done anything serious, it had resulted in exploding goblins.

Speaking of goblins, Sarah heard a faint scratching noise from the walls, and Alix detoured to the vent grating and opened it. “I know you’re there. Come out, and be comfortable. I wouldn’t have expected him to send her without guards.”

Sarah was unsurprised to see Neesk squeeze himself out of the narrow opening. “Not a guard,” he protested. “’M Her Queeniness’ Royal Page, I am. Queensguards get armors.”

Sarah cocked an eyebrow at that. “Queensguards? I wasn’t aware I had a royal guard, yet.”

Neesk clapped both hands over his mouth and squeaked. “Nevermin’! I didn’t say nuffin’ bout no queensguards! Foxy fox’ll have me bogged!”

The fox had to be Sir Didymus, and if he was arranging a guard for her, Sarah couldn’t complain. “Of course not. Neesk, come here, sit with me.” Sarah patted the arm of her chair, and the little goblin bounced there happily.

Then she fixed her gaze on Alix. “Jareth didn’t send me. I talked to him about you, but I thought I made it clear I do things of my own will, not at his command.”

Alix settled into the other chair, and held up one finger in a ‘wait’ gesture. One of the other fae bustled in with a tea tray, and Sarah accepted a cup of some crisp and faintly sweet-smelling herbal concoction. Neesk growled, “I taste! No magic, no poison.” Alix nodded, and Sarah gave him a spoonful, which he slurped fearlessly.

“You’re a quick one, aren’t you?” Sarah said. She hadn’t thought of it, despite of all the fairy tales warning never to take food or drink when in faerie lands.

“Safe!” Neesk squeaked, and Alix’s servant offered him his own cup before taking himself out silently. Only then did Sarah sip, savoring the complex flavors.

“You should know, Sarah, that I swore a very old and binding oath not to harm you, nor to allow my people to harm you,” Alix said. 

She managed  _ not _ to snort tea at that, just rolling her eyes with a heavy sigh once she swallowed. “ _ Damn _ him. He came up here, didn’t he?”

“Of course he did. Sarah, he treasures you,” Alix told her in mollifying tones.

It wasn’t working. “Yeah, I’m gonna treasure him right into a goddamn oubliette,” she muttered. “Someday he’ll realize I’m not a fifteen-year-old girl blundering through a maze again. Someday.”

“No, you are a fae-touched mortal woman navigating a maze that has ensnared many older and supposedly wiser than you are,” Alix replied. “Your king was right to seek me out. I offered him my oath before he could ask it, because I knew he would be anxious on your behalf. With your safety assured, he was quite courteous, which was a pleasant surprise.” She sipped her tea thoughtfully. “Almost charming – for a high fae, anyway.”

Sarah scoffed at that. “Careful. If he heard you say that, his enormous ego would lead him to assume that you’re doing all this so you can dispose of me somehow and seduce him to steal his throne.” Her lip curled. “We’ve already got one idiot trying that shit, the last thing I need is him thinking there’s another.”

Alix laughed. “Sarah, Sarah. Anyone who speaks to him of you should know that no one can replace you in his eyes. He is well and truly smitten. I’d pity him, but from what I hear, he deserves it.” She grinned then, conspiratorially, and added in playful tones, “Besides, if I wanted the throne of Umardelin, it’s him I’d dispose of and you I’d court.”

Sarah gave a shrug. “Well, I  _ am _ the one the land chose, so…”

“And you are the one I’d prefer in any case,” Alix said. “Fear not, I have my own love, and though she is leagues and realms away I am true to her. But enough of gossip. You came to learn magic, and hinted that you’ve done some of it. Tell me when it started.”

Sarah quickly related everything she could remember of exploding the goblins, with Neesk providing sound effects, then stopped herself. “Actually … I think I was doing more than that, and earlier. You see, I used to visit the Labyrinth in my dreams, to see my friends there. And to see Jareth, eventually. I got to be a certain age, and I was taking psychology classes, and I decided it was an unhealthy coping mechanism. So … I blocked him out. I blocked Umardelin out.” Sarah winced, remembering it. “Which was stupid, I know.”

Alix paused with her cup halfway to her mouth. “No, it was human,” she said quietly. “It’s quite normal for humans to deny any knowledge of us and our realms. But it must have taken a great effort of will to do so, if Umardelin had welcomed you so thoroughly.”

Sarah gave a shaky sigh. “Yeah, well … it was like slamming a door. And I caught a piece of myself in there, too. It wasn’t until Jareth bulled his way back into my life that I truly felt  _ whole _ again.”

The fae woman turned her cup around thoughtfully. “You might have some fae blood in you. Such a strong connection is unusual – and when it  _ is  _ broken, the mortal usually doesn’t survive to renew it. Fae blood might explain your affinity for magic, and how you managed to live despite severing the bond.”

A shiver ran down Sarah’s spine at that thought. “I don’t really remember that weekend at all. Come Monday, I forced myself back into my usual routine. Eventually I quit the agency I was working for, and changed pretty much everything. New job, new apartment, new wardrobe too I think. That’s when I started dating the mundane, too.”

Alix nodded. “A rebirth of sorts. That’s a kind of magic too, and if the old you was bound to Umardelin and shriveling up without it, you reinvent yourself into someone who can survive. It seems you’ve instinctively made magical choices, Sarah.”

“I sure wasn’t doing it on purpose,” she replied ruefully.

“So. You created a magical barrier that kept out both king and kingdom, and an explosion of raw magic that dispersed the goblin horde. Anything else?”

“Jareth loves to magic clothes on and off,” Sarah said, a little chagrined, but Alix only raised an eyebrow slightly. “I saw him do it, so I tried to do the same thing when I was in a hurry to get ready, and it worked.”

Alix nodded, and set her tea aside. “Your magic is primarily concerned with motion, I think. And without training, you’ve done everything instinctively, by force of will and imagination. So we need to work on the basics: where and how to get your power; how to ground, center, and shield; and then the finger points of how to use your magic.”

“You keep saying _my_ magic,” Sarah said thoughtfully. “Is mortal magic that different from fae?”

The fae woman shook her head. “Not that. Magic is personal, Sarah. Some have magic mainly concerned with sight, and can see the past or the future or the present at far distances. Some magic is oracular, it consists of knowing what should be unknowable. Some magic is about transformation, or illusion, or growth, or destruction. Most members of a particular fae race will have strengths in a certain type of magic, but everyone is unique, and everyone’s magic is unique, too.”

Sarah nodded. “Jareth said something about the color of magic. When he does it, there’s always glitter. His eyes turn iridescent sometimes, too. When I exploded the goblins – and when he put the key around my neck – my vision went golden.”

“Your power manifests in a golden sheen,” Alix said. “Interesting. I would have guessed silver, as I’ve never seen you wear gold. But it is a color of strength, magnificence, and unsubtle power. It symbolizes purity and the sun, and often connotes royalty. A good fit, I think.”

“Yeah, especially the unsubtle part,” Sarah said ruefully.

Neesk, having decided they weren’t going to fight, and being rather bored by technical discussions, had hopped to the back of Sarah’s chair and curled up there. His quiet snores didn’t bother either of them – but Sarah suspected that if there  _ were _ any trouble, he’d be awake and biting in a flash.

“Subtlety is what I’ll be teaching you. I can’t have you running about Manhattan, blowing up streets and throwing taxis at obstreperous fae.” Alix put her tea aside, and took off her ubiquitous glasses. Sarah was struck again by the eyes thus revealed, with their horizontal pupils. It should’ve been unsettling, and it had been at first, but she was rapidly growing accustomed to it.

“First principles, though,” Alix said. “Where do we get the power to fuel our magic?”

“I guess I get it from the Labyrinth,” Sarah said, feeling like the dullest student in the class.

Alix chuckled. “You  _ can _ draw on your kingdom, but it’s not the only source. And right now, if you tried, it’d be like trying to water your garden with a fire hose. There’s way too much power there for you to use it with finesse. So when you’ve done magic, it came from yourself.”

The fae woman settled a little more comfortably in her chair before continuing. “All life produces the energy that we can use for magic. People, animals, plants, even things you probably don’t think of as being alive, like streams and storms. And music, and emotion. This club, when it’s packed on a Saturday night and the music’s loud and the dance floor’s full and everyone is moving to the same beat – people talk about a club having energy, having a soul or a spirit. It really does, and there’s enough energy there to give people the experience they’re after, and still skim some off the top for ourselves. Most of my magic is fueled through here, and it’s like a well that my people dip from, also.

“We never take too much. People want to leave here excited and ready for whatever their after-party is. You don’t want club patrons to leave exhausted, or they’ll quit coming. So on a slow night, we kick in a little power to get everything flowing, and maybe we don’t take anything that night. It’s like another kind of cover charge, in a way. It doesn’t do any harm. _That_ I’m very serious about. The first law of my coterie is that we do no harm to the people and land around us, unless we’re defending ourselves.”

“Which makes me glad I bumped into you, and not someone else,” Sarah said, with genuine relief. “Although … the way you say ‘coterie’. Is there some kind of formal meaning to that?”

She saw Alix hesitate, then shrug. “My people, essentially. If I had a kingdom, those who follow me would be my court. If I had a title or a demesne, they would be my retinue. Since I have neither crown nor lands nor title, they are my coterie. I make most of the decisions, I look after them, and I am responsible for their actions, to a point.”

“Gotcha,” Sarah said.

Alix drank off the last of her tea before continuing. “The reason I made that law our first and foremost is that there are many easier and faster ways to gain power. I mentioned that emotion can be fuel for magic. The emotions in a club like this are strong, but usually diffuse. Some people are feeling joy, some are feeling lust, some are feeling something else. As a result, the power that can be harnessed from this place is just as diffuse. In the Namibian desert, Sarah, there are fogs that roll in daily from the coast, though it almost never rains. There is a species of beetle which waits atop the dunes and allows the fog to coalesce on its body, into dew, which is how it drinks. We are like those beetles, patiently collecting what we can.

“But there are too many in this world with no patience. Your Jareth may not think to tell you this, for – to maintain the water analogy – he has never known thirst. All his life he has swum in rivers and springs, and when he visits a desert like this, he carries the waters of his kingdom with him. We are intimately acquainted with thirst here, and some will do anything to slake it.”

Her tone was putting the hairs on the nape of Sarah’s neck up. “Why do I have a horrible feeling you’re about to start talking about blood magic?”

Alix nodded. “Not just blood. Fear is a powerful emotion. Fear, and pain, and blood, all can be used for magic. They taint what is created with them, but for many, that is a negligible concern. The magic is  _ strong _ , and easy to harvest. Such is outlawed by the High King, but he is not here to enforce it, and his eye rests but lightly on human lands.”

Her voice went tense and terse. “I have been on the receiving end of blood magic. It leaves a lasting impression. My coterie knows that if they practice it, I will see them slain.” Those last words had the iron clang of finality to them, and though Sarah had not been able to think of Alix as intimidating before, now she saw a side of the green-haired fae that was just as ruthless as Jareth could be.

“Yeah, no interest in getting into that,” Sarah said, with a shudder.

“Good. Learning magic will be slow, and frustrating. If you are ever tempted, remember that the fast and easy path always ends with someone bleeding. Which is only acceptable in the case of voluntary sacrifice, and the whole point is not to use too much of your _own_ energy.”

“I’d rather deal with the frustration and do things the right way,” Sarah said. “I’m a social worker, specifically I work with children. I spend every day making sure that people don’t abuse their power over those who can’t fight back.”

That made Alix raise her brows a little. “Truly? Well then, I need not worry so much about lecturing you on ethics, then.”

“Still, I want to know everything,” Sarah insisted.

“And I will teach you as much as I can,” Alix promised. “Now then. Before I teach you to open yourself to the currents of energy that can fuel magic, I want to teach you how to ground, center, and shield yourself. Not all power is neutral; some of it, like blood-magic, is toxic. You need to be able to protect yourself from it, and strong enough not to be swept away if you tap into something wilder than you expected. That, however, I will leave for your next lesson.”

“Let’s pick a date and time, then,” Sarah replied, taking out her phone so she could check her schedule.

Coordinating took a few moments, as both of them had other obligations, but Sarah finally found a few free hours later in the week. “You’ll want to wear jeans for this,” Alix added. “And meet me in Central Park, at the castle. The best way to get yourself grounded in the Earth’s power is to physically be sitting on the ground.”

“Sounds like fun,” Sarah said.

Alix grinned enough to give a glimpse of teeth. “If you wanted to study magic like a mortal, like a witch, it might take you years simply to learn how exactly you did what you’ve done so far. Therefore, as much as possible within the limits of safety and ethics, we are pursuing an  _ abbreviated _ course of study. To teach you grounding as fast as possible, I intend to let you experience the Earth as I do. It will  _ show _ you the connection between yourself and the Earth, better than any words could tell. It may be rather a surprise, to experience grounding as a dryad, which is the next best thing to becoming a tree.”

Sarah cocked her head. “Is  _ that _ what you are? I know not all the legends are true, and not all the kinds of fae correspond to their myths.”

“Yes, I am a dryad. My tree is the willow, hence Alix – from the genus Salix, the Latin name by which all willows are known to human scientists.” She shrugged. “It means my powers are focused on growth and the element of earth, not spectacular by the standards of the high fae. But necessary. They value us for our healing and fertility magics.”

One thing Sarah remembered about dryads was that their lives were tied to their trees. So Alix probably had a tree somewhere in the city that she was bound to. It seemed rude to ask about it, though. “They ought to value you, anyway,” she said.

Alix grinned. “I would jest that such talk will make your king will think you’re becoming a revolutionary in my company, but I wager he knows better. And that your egalitarian nature is well-established. Jareth himself seems … not as insufferable as I expected.”

That got a laugh from Sarah. “Trust me, he’s as insufferable as anyone can be. I would know. But he’s not as much of a snooty bastard as the high fae sound like. That, not even I expected.”

“He has lived with and ruled the goblins for decades,” Alix replied. “That would force a broadening of perspective, or he would not have survived. If my memory is correct, part of his curse was being restricted to his kingdom. Perhaps he could come Above, but he could not set foot in any other fae lands save Umardelin.”

Sarah shivered, remembering again that Jareth had been cursed for a long, long time. “Makes me glad I broke it … and not just because I got to go back to the Labyrinth.”

“I’m certain he is more than glad, and not only because he is now free. Your king seems to understand just how lucky he is to have you.”

“He’d damn well better,” Sarah replied, and they shared a laugh.

But then Alix turned a bright, mischievous gaze on her, and added, “As you are glad, as well. For him, not just for the Labyrinth. He may not be to my taste, but I can see where other women would swoon.”

“I don’t swoon,” Sarah said, then smirked. “I won’t give him the satisfaction. If anyone had told me at fifteen that I’d actually look forward to seeing him, I’d think they were crazy. Now, though … yeah. This whole star-crossed romance thing works pretty well for me, actually.”

“Good. Enjoy it,” Alix told her. “And I hate to rush you, but I have another appointment. I will see you in the park, however.”

“I’ll see you then,” Sarah said, and impulsively offered her hand when they both rose. Alix shook with her, amused, and with a freshly-wakened Neesk on her shoulder, Sarah headed out. The club’s patrons were starting to arrive, and she felt a few interested and curious glances land on her, but no one spoke. Or noticed the goblin clinging to her hair; he might’ve been using a glamour to keep himself hidden, or those watching her might have been fae. The doorman mimed tipping a hat to her, and Sarah gave him a friendly wave as she left.

Once outside, Neesk chirped, “See ya, Queenie!” and hopped down, disappearing instantly. Not even Sarah could see where he’d gone. Based on her conversation with Alix and her experience with them, she began to expect that a large part of goblin magic had to do with concealment.

“Just my luck,” she muttered, shaking her head and thinking of how often she would have to deal with surprise goblins in the future.

 

…

 

 


	12. Whispers in the Dark

Sarah was still musing on magic, and all she had to learn, when she got back to her apartment. She stood in front of the vanity, took her earrings off, and leaned forward to put them back in the jewelry box.

A whisper of iridescence swirled at the edge of her vision, and she heard Jareth’s voice a second later, full of appreciation. “Lovely Sarah,” he said, having just stepped out of the full-length mirror, and stepped up behind her, his hands on her hips. “You look stunning.”

She chuckled at him. “It’s just a little black dress, Jareth. Every girl has one.”

“It shows much of the length of your delightful legs,” he countered. “And what the fabric covers, it also reveals, skimming every luscious curve.” Sarah straightened up, leaning back against him, and he nuzzled her shoulder. 

A lazy smile curved her lips, but he wasn’t getting away with it this easily. “Mm-hmm. And are you trying to distract me? Because today was my first lesson with Alix, and something tells me you and she had a conversation. Which is funny, because I  _ told _ you I had it under control and you didn’t  _ need _ to interfere.”

He paused, then kissed her neck. “As it turns out, you were correct. I believe Alix has no negative intentions toward you. But you might have been wrong. I had to be certain. You are my love, Sarah, and mine to protect.” He let her feel his teeth briefly.

Sarah rolled her eyes, and reached back to catch a handful of his hair and tug it playfully. “Reminder: when I was just a teenager, I kicked your ass. I don’t know that it gets any bigger and scarier than you.”

“Sarah, Sarah. Did you find my _size_ so frightening?” Jareth teased. “You seem quite comfortable with it now.”

“Speaking of things I didn’t know when I was just a teenager,” she chuckled.

He nuzzled her again, but sighed against her hair. “Much as I enjoy taunting you with double entendres, Sarah, there are far scarier fae out there than myself. And some who, despite lesser age and power, ought to frighten for the strength of their naked ambition.”

Sarah nudged her head against his. “Yeah, I’ll be watching out for anyone who thinks they can drain me for power. Alix warned me. For now, you’re ruining the mood, Jareth.” She looked into the mirror at his reflection and mock-scowled at him.

He smirked back at her. “Oh, but before we return to contemplating my frightening largeness – ” she rolled her eyes, but he continued “– I would have one question answered. Why did you wear this particular dress to meet with the dryad, Sarah mine? Trying to impress upon her that you are far too beautiful a woman for anyone to compete with?”

The Champion’s Ball was still on his mind, and Sarah enjoyed tweaking his nose a bit over it. “Honestly I just didn’t want to look out of place in a Goth club,” she admitted. “But in any case, Alix isn’t interested in  _ you _ . What were her exact words … ? Oh, yeah. ‘If I wanted the throne of Umardelin, it’s him I’d dispose of and you I’d court.’” 

He startled at that, and Sarah looked over her shoulder to grin impertinently at him. “Should I be concerned?” Jareth finally asked.

Teasing him was just too much fun. “Dunno. Should you?”

He scoffed. “Well, you  _ were _ complaining of shocking size. Perhaps I ought to make a few changes so as to be more amenable to your current mood?” Jareth gestured toward their reflections, and Sarah looked there instead.

To her surprise, her mirror-self was being embraced by a tall blonde  _ woman _ with Jareth’s eyes. And his wicked smile. When she blinked, he was himself again. “I will not lose you to another, no matter what accommodations your fickle human heart demands,” Jareth said triumphantly.

“You’re an ass,” she muttered, and elbowed him.

“Whereas you merely have a magnificent one,” Jareth retorted, his hands on her hips slipping back to give her rear an affectionate squeeze. “And this dress does emphasize it most gloriously. Particularly when you bend just so.” Saying that, he ran one hand up her back, and gave her the gentlest nudge of encouragement.

Sarah thought about telling him that Alix had a lover of her own, but he’d always been most ardent in jealousy. Laughing, she leaned forward and braced her hands on the vanity. “Is that so, Goblin King?” she taunted, looking over her shoulder again.

Jareth was most obviously admiring the view, and Sarah’s smile was fierce and wicked. “If you’re so concerned about another fae making a chance comment to me, I suppose your course is clear.”

“Is it?” he asked, musing and warm.

She knew  _ exactly _ how to get what she wanted, and that was its own triumph. “Make me  _ your _ queen, then,” she goaded him.

And got exactly the reaction she expected.

 

…

 

Alix’s accountant was the merrow who had locked gazes with Jareth. The name she used was Colleen, and her office was in the basement to accommodate her pool. It was fresh water, rather than the salt she preferred, but it was better than being dry. Her desktop was built a little above the lip of the pool, with a special waterproof keyboard and touchpad, and Alix had been very careful about how the computer and other electrical equipment were affixed and wired. That the dryad saw to such details herself had impressed Colleen enough to secure her loyalty, even more than the generous offer of an office pool itself.

Besides, dryads and naiads (of which all the merfolk were a part) had long been useful to one another. It was an easy and fruitful alliance, and she found Alix trustworthy.

Someone knocked on her door as she was entering the day’s expenses, and Colleen minimized the screen before calling out, “Come in.” Visitors sometimes turned up, usually other staffers and members of the coterie with questions. If they annoyed her, she hummed to them until they fell into her pool and had to scramble ignominiously out.

Today’s caller wasn’t one of Alix’s people. Jenny the grindylow (and oh, they said  _ Colleen _ was an obvious alias!) strolled in with friendly greetings. Jenny was under the protection of one of Alix’s rivals, as it so happened. Still, the water-folk kept common cause with one another at times, though all were aware of each other’s loyalties elsewhere. 

Since it wasn’t her  _ home _ pool, just an office space, Colleen invited the grindylow in for a quick dip, and Jenny was more than happy to slip back into her natural element for a moment. Mortals would find a grindylow unattractive; unlike the merrow, whose human half was lovely, Jenny’s race had bulging eyes and frilled gills and large greenish teeth, like a pike-fish. Now, though, sporting joyfully in the water, there was a certain beauty to the grindylow. Colleen watched with patience; Jenny’s self-styled lord didn’t bother to make her comfortable, so the poor creature could only swim in whatever ponds she found in the city’s parks.

At last she came up, shaking her straggly green hair over her shoulders, and sighed with contentment. “You’re a lucky one, Colleen,” Jenny said, treading water easily with slow movements of her large webbed feet.

“Say that when you’re walking above, and I’m pushing the chair along,” Colleen replied, and got a nod of acknowledgment. “What brings you here, cousin?”

The relationship was probably  _ much _ more distant than that, but it was courteous. And Jenny preened a little under it. “Just a social call,” she said. “Your dryad fits your office out so well, you end up staying in its confines too much. We of the water missed seeing you, last moon. I heard from one of our mer-men that the tide was glorious.”

Colleen gave a rueful shrug. “I thought I found a discrepancy in the books. Turned out it was a simple entry error, but it could have caused some confusion.” It had been more complicated than that, and had cost her two frustrating days of backtracking to pin down, but Jenny didn’t need to know that.

“She works you too hard,” Jenny said.

“Alix didn’t ask me to stay. I like knowing my work is done _right_.” Colleen leaned back against the edge of the pool. “Did I miss anything interesting?”

Only the typical gossip and scandals exchanged at the high tide amongst all the water fae, where rivers met the sea. Some selkie idiot was brokenhearted over the loss of his sealskin, but then, what could one expect when dating mortals who actually remembered their folklore? Someone was courting someone else’s lover, as usual, and then all the little scuffles for power and rank among the two other main factions in the city. Not to mention those heathens from Jersey, trying to muscle their way up into the East River.

In short, nothing truly interesting. “And what of you?” Jenny asked. “Any news?”

Colleen sighed, and let herself dip beneath the water briefly. Her own gills were much more discreet than the grindylow, and she breathed deeply of her natural element before resurfacing. “We  _ did _ have a bit of a stir,” she said reluctantly. “You just missed it, the other night. But I’m not really supposed to talk about it.”

“If you’re not bound to silence by a geas, then it’s just a suggestion,” Jenny said with a sly grin.

“Still…” Colleen flicked her tail in agitation, stirring the water.

“Look, is it something that might be important to the water fae?” Jenny asked, floating closer. “Because we understand each other, as those of the land do not. If it could impact us…”

“It could impact _all_ the fae in New York,” Colleen said in a hushed voice. She glanced around, then dipped below the water again.

Jenny did the same. They could speak and understand each other underwater, while a dry-land fae would hear only distorted burbles. “This is not to be general knowledge,” Colleen said urgently. “But Alix had a visitor the other night. A fae king, from Below. Jareth, of Umardelin.”

“The king of the Labyrinth?” Jenny exclaimed, bubbles rising. “What was he doing Above? Hunting for runners?”

“No. He has a mortal lover, Jenny. And she lives here, in our city.” Colleen shuddered. “Alix saw her traipsing about with the very Key to Umardelin around her neck. She let the woman know what she saw, and her king shielded it – but then he came calling, to make sure Alix didn’t get ideas.”

“Protective, of course,” Jenny mused. “That’s a great deal of power to have wandering around loose. But why would he give the key to his kingdom to his human pet?”

“Not pet,” Colleen murmured, her eyes going wide. “Queen-to-be. She’s beaten the Labyrinth – _twice_. He named her his Champion, with a ball in her honor and everything. The curse that bound him to Umardelin is broken, and he’s chosen to stay there as king, with her at his side.”

Jenny gulped a profanity that wouldn’t have been understandable to a creature of the land. “Then why hasn’t the fool wedded her and brought her Below? Having her running around up here with us is as bad as having a king trying to annex us!”

“She has a job and a life here, I take it,” Colleen shrugged. “And she’s too strong for him to sway. Alix is teaching her to control her magic – between her link to him, and some gift of her own, she’s a potential threat. This woman is a power, mark my words, and he’s several magnitudes greater. I saw him drop his glamours, Jenny. He could level Manhattan if he chose. And after a century and a half in Umardelin, he cannot be the most stable and sensible of fae. I fear for all of us, if some idiot tries to harm her.”

Jenny’s already huge eyes were monstrously wide with shock and dismay. “By all the old gods,” she murmured. “And Alix wants to keep this to herself?”

“The fewer know the woman exists, the fewer will try to harm her,” Colleen said. “I disagree. We should _all_ know of this danger, the better to prevent it.”

“I will make certain the word is carried to those sensible enough to hear it,” Jenny said.

Colleen thrashed her tail, a wave slopping over the edge of the pool. Luckily there were drains in place to prevent damage to the computer equipment. “No! I won’t betray Alix. Promise me, you’ll tell no one.”

Jenny ducked her head. “If it frightens you so, cousin, then I will keep silent. I still think you should speak out.”

Colleen shook her head. “No. Alix may be right. It can’t be long before that king of hers grows impatient. He’ll trick her Below, some way, and once she’s wedded to him she’ll be as bound to Umardelin as he is. Better that both of them stay down there, and forget we all exist.”

“Yes, that would be best,” Jenny agreed, and changed the topic. Soon enough she had to take her leave, and Colleen flipped back to the surface to wave her out.

Once the grindylow was gone, she allowed herself a smile. Jenny had agreed to keep silent, but that didn’t stop her from writing down the information and passing it along. Knowing her propensity for gossip – and for selling news to her rivals – the word would be all over town by tomorrow.

Which was precisely what Alix wanted, and had asked her to do.

Dry-land fae though Alix might be, she was trustworthy. That was more than Colleen could say for most of her watery cousins.

 


	13. Unexpected Events

Jareth blinked awake, becoming aware that his arm was asleep. He half rolled over, realizing Sarah was asleep on that arm, and ever so gently worked it out from under her. Sarah muttered and rolled over.

He could only grin. After last night’s vigorous exercise over her vanity, he’d insisted that she come Below to sleep. Sarah had done so, but only after a shower and change of clothes. She had intended to sleep in a fetching nightgown, though given how it looked on her,  _ sleep _ was something they’d gotten to rather late. So late, that they’d remained in her suite, and Jareth had fallen asleep beside her.

Now she was rumpled, her hair a tangled mess, the nightgown sliding off. But her lips were curved in a contented smile, and Jareth bent to kiss her shoulder. “My kingdom for a kiss upon her shoulder,” he murmured, a snatch of music playing in his mind. Though in this case, it was that kiss upon her shoulder that was helping him  _ keep _ his kingdom.

How he would have liked to remain here at her side, waking her slowly with kisses, and enjoy a morning romp. But the land plucked at his senses, demanding something of him, and Umardelin was not to be ignored. Jareth would have to employ his seeing-crystals to find out what was currently going on his kingdom which needed his attention.

Part of him wondered if it could be some machination of Lyselle’s. Looking at Sarah now, he was more certain than ever that her doubt at the Champion’s Ball was someone else’s doing. It wasn’t like Sarah to falter; if she felt vulnerable, she would double down and brazen through on pure stubborn. It would have been more in character for her to seat herself in his lap and make her possession blatantly clear, than to flee the gathering.

With one final lingering kiss, he rose, heading to his own rooms to dress himself. Sarah grumbled softly in her sleep, and he smiled at her. “I’ll be back soon enough, precious one,” Jareth murmured.

 

…

 

Sarah woke just before dawn, and rolled over onto Jareth’s side of the bed. The blankets beside her were empty, but still warm; Jareth had been there moments ago. Most likely he was on one of his reconnaissance flights over the kingdom. Sarah stretched and got up. Or started to. Her nightgown might very well be beyond repair, the corset-style front entirely unlaced, and the seam split up the side almost to her breast.

She should’ve expected that. “Make me _your_ queen, then,” was the sort of phrase guaranteed to inspire him. And once atop her vanity Above was hardly enough to sate either of them, particularly not when it had been a hasty, hungry round of lovemaking. Down here in her bed they’d both been more patient, but not so much that her wardrobe didn’t suffer.

It hardly mattered, since the shirt he’d worn was still hanging at the foot of the bed. It hit her at mid-thigh, and at this hour there were few goblins or servants about to be scandalized – except the kitchen staff, who were accustomed to her early sleepiness.

She padded barefoot out of the bedroom and down the winding stair, heading for the kitchens. Beldych would make her toast with butter and jam, if there weren’t any pastries on hand. The coffee bushes, though, were still a work in progress, and she had to content herself with strong tea when she forgot to bring coffee down with her.

Halfway down, she heard something rattle, and turned sharply. Outside the narrow tower window was a familiar-looking barn owl, which flapped its wings again, jostling the thin panes of glass. “You couldn’t just fly in upstairs, huh?” Sarah asked, undoing the latch and letting Jareth in.

The owl swooped past her, hovering in midair for a moment before it perched on the torch bracket just above her head. It bobbed its head to look at her, and made a soft chirruping sound.

Sarah took a closer look, and almost groaned. This bird was darker than Jareth, with more prominent specks across its belly and wings. “Great, I just let a wild freakin’ owl into the castle. Okay, c’mere, sweetheart, let me get you outside.”

Even as she tried to open the window, the owl trilled and flew off to the next torch, half a turn down the stairs. “There aren’t any mice in here for you to eat,” Sarah called in the same sweet tone, approaching the bird carefully. She didn’t want to spook it. “We have goblins, they keep the vermin down. But they might go after  _you_ , sweetie, so you have to go back outside. Now be a nice owl and fly through the window when I open it?”

Barn owls, despite being incredibly beautiful, could make a wide variety of un-pretty noises. Still, the throaty sound accompanied by beak-clacking struck Sarah as being almost akin to laughing. At least it wasn’t screeching at her.

Sarah eased past the bird to the next window and unlatched it. “All right, come on, beautiful,” she said soothingly, and turned to look back at it.

The owl blinked, hopped off its perch … and became a faerie woman just in time for her feet to touch the floor. Not just any fae, either, but a woman of startling beauty: her long hair was the same cream-and-gold as the owl’s plumage, and her blue eyes were streaked with a mysterious gray. By the look of her, she couldn’t be more than twenty, but Sarah knew age was deceptive among the fae.

Her first, absurd thought was a half-formed realization that this gorgeous stranger made her look frowzy by comparison. That was quickly overrun by the shocked realization that she’d let a strange fae into their home.  _Oh,_ _**shit** _ _ … We just dealt with Lyselle, and I let some rando into the castle! _

The woman only smiled, and gave her a slight curtsy. “You must be Sarah. I am Cadelinyth of Etaron. Jareth’s mother. Feel free to call me Della.”

Sarah could only stare at her. Of course! She’d heard the story of Jareth’s grandparents, the sorceress-queen and her owl, so this  _had_ to be Jareth’s mother. “I…” she began, and another realization struck her so suddenly that she blurted it aloud. “I’m not wearing pants.  _Oh my God._ Sorry … give me just a moment.” She had met the parents of other lovers before, but never this unexpected or unprepared.  _They weren’t supposed to get here for another two days!_

While Sarah tried to force her mind back into something resembling proper speech, and come up with a reasonable explanation for why the soon-to-be Goblin Queen—and this woman’s soon-to-be daughter-in-law—was roaming the halls in precisely one piece of clothing that  _wasn’t even hers_ , Cadelinyth patted her shoulder gently. “I know where the kitchens are, darling. Go wake my son, if he’s still abed … and judging by the love-bite on your neck, he likely is.”

Sarah could only squeak in horrified embarrassment, and fled back up the stairs. She bolted into his room, calling out, “ _Jareth!_ Your mother is here early, and I didn’t know it was her, I thought it was you and then I thought it was just an owl but it’s your  _mom_ and dear God, I’m just wearing your damn shirt and I hope I didn’t flash her when I went running up the stairs. Oh my God, this is a nightmare… ”

He had been in the dressing room, and stepped out to stare at her, his up-swept brows arched even higher. It was a mark of her agitation that she paid no attention to the fact that he hadn’t bothered to don a shirt just yet. “Sarah, slow down. Now,  _what_ happened?”

She managed to relay the tale with less breathlessness, and this time included, “And don’t bitch at me about letting someone in the castle. One, I was half-asleep. Two, I thought it was you—I didn’t know anyone else turned into an owl. Three, you’re supposed to have spells and wards to protect against that sort of thing.”

“It’s all right, Sarah,” he soothed, and went to kiss her brow, drawing her close. “Although I would prefer that you not let any strange birds into my castle in the future. All the window-locks are spelled to admit me in owl-form.”

“Would’ve been nice to know that earlier,” Sarah commented, snuggling against his chest. “And it’s _our_ castle, dammit. Get that through your thick fae head. _Our_ kingdom, _our_ castle.”

“Mere habit,” Jareth murmured, nuzzling her hair. “I assure you, I’m quite aware that all I have and all I am, I now share with you.”

“Including your parents,” Cadelinyth said lightly from the doorway, and Sarah yelped, scrambling for clothes. There had to be _something_ she’d left in here, as often she hastily undressed in this room. Sarah spied a skirt tangled up in the cushion pit, and yanked it out, darting into the dressing room to put it on.

“Mother, while I’m pleased beyond expression to see you, I find myself wishing you had announced your arrival,” Jareth said. Despite the formal words, there was a warmth in his tone that Sarah hadn’t heard applied to anyone other than herself.

She paused with the skirt in hand, and turned to see Cadelinyth reaching up to cup her son’s face, drawing him down and kissing the bridge of his nose. “I love you, my son,” she said. “And I am proud of you. Forgive me if I wished to see your bride  _before_ the two of you had the chance to arrange matters so as to show only what you wanted me to see.”

“And this invasion of my bedchamber was also your endless curiosity?” Jareth asked, hugging her.

“Well, yes,” Cadelinyth replied. “The way two lovers speak to each other when they think no one is present gives a much better indication of the health of their relationship than anything else.” She smiled, that same wicked smirk that Sarah often saw on Jareth’s lips, and added, “I’m glad to see she has you well in hand, my son.”

“Hmph. I indulge her,” Jareth said, and Cadelinyth laughed. “Now go downstairs before you give Sarah fits of apoplexy.”

“I shall. I believe there are scones being baked even as we speak,” Cadelinyth replied. Then she looked over at Sarah and smiled again, charmingly. “Do not be afraid, my darling daughter-to-be. You cannot offend me with the revelation that my son’s head can be turned by a length of lovely leg. He comes by that honestly; his father has much the same weakness.”

“ _Mother!_ ” Jareth exclaimed, and laughing merrily at them both, Cadelinyth finally left.

“Okay, so I finally met your mother,” Sarah said weakly. “While wearing your shirt, and nothing else. Also with a great big obvious hickey on my neck. Thanks, by the way.”

“You’re welcome,” Jareth said, hugging her tightly. He did trace a finger over her neck, and by the tingle of magic she knew he was erasing the evidence of last night’s activities. “All will be well, Sarah. My mother is one of the most even-tempered and least-confrontational fae I know.”

“In that case, are you sure she’s your mother?” Sarah quipped, and he bit her ear gently to remonstrate.

 

…

 

When they both came downstairs a while later, Sarah was still embarrassed. “So, the bad news is that I can’t stay,” she began, after formal introductions and some royal small talk. Cadelinyth looked at her curiously, and she continued, “I took time off work for the visit, but we weren’t expecting you for two more days. I’ve got to go to work Aboveground.”

“It’s been a very long time since I went Above,” Cadelinyth mused.

“Mother, please,” Jareth interrupted. “She is going to _work_. Let her put her life back in order before you flap in and disrupt it?”

“Oh, do you have a monopoly on that?” Della teased.

“It’s okay,” Sarah said. “I really do actually have to get to work. I thought you weren’t coming just yet. And I expected Jareth’s father as well…?”

“I fly faster than our horses can travel,” Della replied. “And again, I wanted to take you two off guard.”

“Thank you for being the utterly devious wretch I know you to be,” Jareth grumbled. 

“Your father loves my deviousness,” she informed him. “Besides, now Sarah knows where you got it from. Never fear, Sarah darling. Take a scone, and when you return, my beloved Thiel will be here for more formal introductions. If we’re all in luck, you and I can go Above for a bit during our visit. I hear you have excellent shopping in New York.”

Jareth rested his head in his palms. “Not an hour passes, and my mother is already giving orders in my kingdom. Sarah, love, please go. Perhaps by the time you return tonight I will have convinced Etaron’s queen that she does not rule  _ here _ .”

His mother’s only reply was to ruffle his hair affectionately. Sarah couldn’t help a laugh, and rubbed Jareth’s shoulder. “You get to do this when you meet my dad. We’ll always be children to our parents. And to think, I used to believe you’d hatched from an egg.”

“Trust me, about halfway through the pregnancy, I _wished_ I could lay eggs,” Della chortled.

Jareth leaned back and offered Sarah a wan smile. She kissed his cheek, and murmured, “I love you. I’ll be back soon.”

“I love you, Sarai,” Jareth replied. “I’ll be counting the hours.”

 

…

 

Sarah made it Above and got herself dressed and ready for work in the nick of time. She didn’t get to her desk immediately, though. Everyone was out in the hallway chattering about something. “What’s up?” Sarah asked.

Amy shuddered. “The law firm upstairs called in an exterminator, finally. I swear their secretaries must leave candy in their desks. Anyway, they’d been seeing rats, and the exterminator found fresh holes chewed in the insulation, leading down here. They’re checking out our office, now.” A pause, and she cocked her head. “Didn’t you say you saw a mouse, the other day?”

“I thought I did, but it was just a shadow,” Sarah lied, wondering what Neesk had done now. Hunting rats in the walls had _seemed_ a safe distraction for the little goblin, but like everything else in her life lately, it was more than it seemed.

A moment later, the pest control guy came out, shaking their heads. “Damnedest thing I ever saw,” the older man muttered.

“We’ve got rats, too?” Amy asked, grimacing.

“Nah, your floor is clean,” the exterminator told her. “But I never seen a rat _graveyard_ before. Whole pile of skulls in one corner, picked clean. Not a trace of rats anywhere else. They must’ve all moved upstairs for some reason. Somebody put down poison, or something?”

No one had, and he finally departed, still shaking her head. Sarah, meanwhile, made a mental note to tell Neesk not to pile up his kills.

 

…

 


	14. First Impressions

King Deruthiel of Etaron was thoroughly disgruntled. His queen had gone on ahead to the wretched goblin kingdom, despite his protests – though when did she ever obey him? And now he found himself at the gates of Umardelin, and despite his disgust for goblin-kind and his dismay at his son’s general fecklessness, he had the poor taste to be _impressed_.

Raw magic pulsed strongly in the Labyrinth, waiting for talented hands to shape and direct it. It was the kind of power that Della could have wielded, had Umardelin been hers. Unfortunately, the High King had known precisely what he was doing, cursing Jareth to rule here. No kingdom would tamely permit a foreign king or queen to wield its power, and Umardelin least of all. It was called the Unmastered for a reason, and even the High King’s curse had left Jareth scrambling to win this land’s loyalty. While Della had visited their son – briefly, for their own kingdom needed her – she could not save him from his fate. Nor could Iswyniel have come here and freed him. Even though the sorceress-queen might have been powerful enough to bend Umardelin to her will, Astolwyr would have rejected her for doing so, as was the way of kingdoms. And Iswyniel would not directly defy the High King like that. Not to mention, she thought Jareth had brought this on himself, and had said so.

She’d also said that the boy must have gotten his sheer stupid bravado from Deruthiel, but Thiel had pretended not to hear. _He_ wasn’t foolish enough to defy the High King; Jareth got his recklessness from Della. He also wasn’t suicidal enough to try telling Iswyniel that. So far as he knew, the only soft spots in the fierce queen’s heart were for her husband, and her darling daughter.

Della knew, though, and blamed herself. Both for spoiling the boy, and for her sense of mischief that he had inherited. To her alone, Thiel would admit that his character had contributed, a certain degree of rowdy boyish posturing among friends having been part of his own history. He had not stopped her from spoiling Jareth, but then, what fae children were not spoilt? They were rare, and much cherished. The few fae parents who did _not_ treasure their children were the stuff of nightmares.

Enough of history; he had the present to worry about. He had brought the minimum amount of guards and retainers, all of them shifting nervously about on their horses behind him. There was a short slope to the Labyrinth itself, and far away, the castle reared up to the sky. From here, Thiel could see how daunting that maze was, and wondered that any mortal dared it.

“Sire?” his valet asked. “Must we traverse it?”

“I hope not,” Thiel said, without much confidence. “We are expected. Surely there is a way for welcome guests to bypass the usual security measures.” Still, it was called The Unmastered. Who knew what Jareth had to do to get them in?

Just as he was wondering where his lady wife had gone, Thiel spotted a slow arc of flight that he knew well. Two owls, this time, not just the one that was Della. He managed not to frown; it would look shabby if Jareth himself had to flap out alone to meet them. No matter what he thought of Umardelin, he didn’t wish for his son to look a fool.

Then the guards rattled their spears suddenly, forming close ranks. Thiel snapped an order to hold, startled as they were. A legion of goblins had sprung up seemingly out of the very ground, and thank all the gods they were unarmed – though their iron armor would be weapon enough, if they flung themselves at his people. A disquieting number of toothy grins were aimed his way, and Thiel held his place, arching an up-swept brow at them.

“Welcome, Etaron!” rang out a ragged chorus, and Jareth himself landed just in the middle of them. He opened his arms in welcome, and Thiel felt talons touch his shoulder lightly as Della landed on him.

The king of Etaron knew what was expected of him. He dismounted, and gave a short bow. “Greetings, King of Umardelin,” he said in formal tones. “I and mine have come by invitation, to witness the coronation of your queen. May we enter?”

“You are welcome, King of Etaron, as are your people,” Jareth said, with an easy confidence that was leagues away from the brash, cocky demeanor Thiel remembered – or the near panic he must have felt, arriving here and finding the land hostile to him. “It is an honor to host you. The way shall open before your feet. You have only to follow the path.”

Even as he spoke, the gates below opened, and a red carpet rolled out. The goblins hopped to the side, and the moving carpet stopped just in front of Thiel’s boots. Meanwhile, Jareth stepped forward. “Welcome, Father,” he said, much more quietly.

Thiel looked at his only child, and all the frustrations and fears of parenthood ran through his mind in a flash. _To hell with it, some things are more important than etiquette._ “I’ve missed you, son,” he said, and wrapped his arms around the boy in a tight hug.

Jareth hugged him back for a long moment, both of them making sure they had their emotions and expressions under control before they stepped back. Della, her perch disturbed, twittered at them, and Thiel glared at her. “You obstreperous wench,” he said in affectionate tones. “I suppose you’ve already checked out our suite, made friends with the kitchen staff, and advised the poor boy on what he should wear to the coronation?”

She flapped off his shoulder to hover over her own mount, which he had led the last few hours. Della changed in midair, dropping an inch or two into the saddle in a way that made every man watching wince. “And met his Sarah, too. You will adore her. She seems to have about as much patience for foolishness as you do, my Thief-King. But you must meet her later; she is at _work_.”

That raised his brows a little more, but Jareth only shrugged. “She is a woman grown, Father. It is only to be expected that she have a career. And being Sarah, it is not something she can lightly abandon.”

“We have an extra horse,” Thiel said. “Ride with me, and tell me of your bride’s _career_ as we make our way to the castle. Unless you need to arrive ahead of us…?”

“I trust my staff to make things ready,” Jareth said, and at Thiel’s disbelieving look, he scolded, “They are not _all_ goblins, Father. As for Sarah’s career, you will be amused. She is a savior of wayward children…”

 

…

 

Sarah managed to finish out the last of her paperwork, reminded Amy to water the plant at her desk, and hurried home. By now, Jareth was probably tearing his hair out – he had been subtly nervous about his parents’ visit, and Cadelinyth’s unexpected arrival had likely only worsened that. He’d said his father was gruff, so Sarah prepared herself to defuse an angry scene between two stubborn men.

She touched the key at her neck and stepped through the mirror, calling a gown to clothe her as she arrived in her own rooms. Work clothes likely wouldn’t impress the fae, but this formal gown in deep emerald was much more queenly. Matching slippers replaced her shoes, and she took a moment to slip a pair of jeweled combs into her hair, gathering it up into a more formal style.

Sarah heard muted noise from the dining hall below, and fearing the worst, she hiked her skirts and ran lightly down the stairs. The scene that met her eyes, however, was far from what she could’ve imagined.

The official party from Etaron had arrived, which meant two dozen or so fae. They all ranged about the hall, nearing the end of a grand feast, the bones of which were being cleared from the tables. Apparently a large quantity of wine had been consumed, for a handful of guards were singing along with the castle bard, though slightly off-key.

Jareth himself was slung sideways in his seat, grinning happily. When he saw Sarah, that smile widened, and he gestured toward her. Magic swept her up, depositing her in his lap, and he purred delight in her ear. “Really?!” Sarah squeaked.

“Hello, love,” he said, his gaze warm and slightly fuzzy. “I am very drunk. Would you like to join me?”

“Jareth, what the hell?” Sarah managed to say.

He blinked at her, and then seemed to remember something. “Oh! You should meet my father.” Jareth waved a hand at the tall, bearded man sitting in the next seat down, who raised his glass to her. There wasn’t much resemblance between them, for Deruthiel was dark where Jareth was fair, but the eyebrows were the same. And the stubborn line of the jaw. “Sarah, this is my father, Deruthiel of Etaron. Father, this is Sarah. There, introductions made. Page! A glass for my queen!”

Deruthiel tipped his glass toward Sarah. “A pleasure to meet you, my lady,” he said. “With luck I may even remember this meeting tomorrow. I am also, quite drunk.”

“So I gathered,” Sarah laughed. “Jareth, let me up. This is the first time in fifteen years I’ve seen you drunk.”

“It’s the first time in a very long time that he’s been able to get drunk with his own people,” Della said, leaning across her husband. “Pity these men, Sarah, they cannot hold their liquor as well as we can.”

“I think you are pouring your drinks into your boot,” Deruthiel opined.

“Impossible, my love,” she teased. “I’m not wearing shoes of any sort.”

He reared back and stared at her. “Barefoot, here? Do you know where we are, woman?”

“Mind your tongue,” Jareth scolded. “I make them sweep. Besides, Sarah chased the chickens out of the throne room.”

“You had chickens in your throne room? Son, you dismay me.” Cadelinyth shook her head, then addressed Sarah. “At least he comes by it honestly. I had to convince _this_ one that his favorite hunting dog could no longer sleep at the foot of our bed. The animal reeked. Do you know, mortal dog breeders have a specific word for that scent? _Hound funk._ Trust me, Sarah, you are lucky not to have experienced it.”

“You haven’t met the vulture that’s nesting in his crown,” Sarah said darkly. Just then, the page arrived with a glass of wine – and a plate, which Beldych had kindly saved for her.

Sarah hadn’t eaten since lunch, and tried to stand up and move to her own chair. Jareth, however, tightened his arm around her, and she growled at him. “Let me go, Jareth. I’m not your lap ornament.”

She’d pitched her voice low, but Della heard her, and laughed. “Sarah, darling, you’re thinking of it the wrong way. He’s not making an ornament of you; you’re making _furniture_ of him. We must keep these men in their place.”

“Are you saying I’m only fit for furniture?” Deruthiel asked imperiously.

Della leaned more heavily on him, and favored him with a sweet smile. “Are you arguing with being furniture, my love?”

Meanwhile Sarah won her freedom by applying her elbow to Jareth’s side, and he pouted at her as she pulled up her own chair and set about devouring dinner with all the decorum she could manage. As Jareth continued to look mournful, Sarah shook her head at him. “This isn’t some silly romance story, Jareth. You don’t get to win the girl and then keep her on your lap like some kind of trophy.”

“It will _be_ a story, or a song at least, before the year is out,” he informed her, his words only a little slurred. “That is a fae habit, my Sarah, making ballads out of people’s lives. And you and I surely have drama enough for a few songs.”

She stopped with her wine glass in hand and stared at him. “I’ve been gone for what, ten hours? Which is six down here? How are you this drunk?”

“I’m not _that_ drunk,” Jareth said, though he looked and sounded it as he leaned toward her. “And you’re trying to divert attention from the possibility of a ballad cycle based on The Champion of the Labyrinth: Or, How the Goblin Queen Got Her Crown.”

Sarah could only shake her head at him, but at that moment, the bard came to the end of his set and asked for requests. Della sat up from where she had been whispering in Deruthiel’s ear, and called out, “If I might ask a favor, troubadour? Do you know ‘The Princess and the Thief-King’?”

Deruthiel scoffed at that. “In my lands, it’s called ‘King Deruthiel and the Owl’s Daughter’.”

Della only preened. “Either way, it’s the ballad of _me_. I’d be ever so honored if you sang it.” Sarah cut a quick look at Jareth, who shrugged. It was suddenly clear from whence his arrogance came. At least on Della, it was charming.

The bard claimed that every minstrel knew that tune, and Deruthiel’s men cheered as he strummed the opening bars. The king himself rolled his eyes, turning to Sarah. “Have you heard the song of the Sorceress-Queen of Astolwyr and her owl?”

“I have,” she replied, not mentioning where or when. “Della’s parents. Jareth wouldn’t tell me _your_ story, though. He said I’d best hear it from you. Although he did mention something about a kidnapping…?” She was still having trouble reconciling a stolen bride with the very happy couple in front of her.

He quaffed the rest of his wine. “Well, the short version is this. Her mother was keeping all the suitors out of Astolwyr, so I planned to kidnap myself a beautiful, talented, pliable young woman to be my bride. And when I actually caught her, I ended up with _this_.” Even as he said it, he looped his arm around Della’s waist and tugged her affectionately closer. She laughed, and kissed him, as the bard struck up his tune.

 

…

 


	15. To Win a Princess

Deruthiel did not imagine that the sorceress would tamely allow him to come court her daughter, but he had no idea what form her disapproval might take. As he was organizing his retinue for the trip to her realm, though, he received it, in the form of an invitation to the princess’ twentieth name-day feast.

It was not an exclusive invitation. Amidst a great deal of delicate political language, the intention was clear: _suitors welcome_. And the messenger who brought it was willing to inform him that similar messengers had gone to every kingdom in the lands.

Deruthiel groaned. He would be forced into competition with every prince and unwed king of the fae, and almost all of them were wealthier, more powerful, and of bluer blood than he. Yes, Cadelinyth liked him, perhaps even loved him, but among that company were many who would do their best to sway her.

He arrived with his envoys and was given accommodations outside the tower itself. Astolwyr seemed stuffed full of princes, and Deruthiel brooded over his wine, trying to accept that he would lose Cadelinyth to one of them. He had only one advantage, and that was that he knew her – which in all the historical romances, counted for little enough.

The day of the feast arrived, and the great hall of Astolwyr was packed, kings and princes rubbing elbows at the tables. Their envoys brought in the gifts one by one, to be presented to the princess and her royal parents up at the main dais. Deruthiel watched wonders parade by: a clockwork tableaux of a string quartet and a pair of dancers that whirled around in complicated measures; innumerable gowns and jewels, each more magnificent than the last; a leash of miniature silken-coated sight-hounds, prancing like tiny deer; a set of wine glasses carved from rubies and sapphires; a case of rare wine brewed from orchid-blossoms and morning dew; and more, and more, and still more.

His own gift would be last, a mark of the queen’s disfavor he was certain, and as the procession went on Deruthiel was certain he had misstepped. He contemplated simply leaving, but to admit his unworthiness would be as shameful as the mockery that would surely follow.

At last, his kingdom was called, and two of his envoys led his gift into the hall. Murmurs and few hushed laughs greeted his present’s arrival, and he clearly heard someone ask if this was a jest.

For in the center of the grand hall now stood a very agitated horse, whose temper was not sweetened by being made to stand in an unfamiliar stall for hours. Garafin tossed his head, snorted, and struck out at the men who led him. True, his tack was the finest he’d ever worn, but it was still meant to  _ride_ in, not merely some ornamental frippery. And just as Deruthiel considered downing the entire flagon of wine in hopes of rendering himself insensible, one of the other kings coughed so hard in stifling his laughter that he knocked over his glass, which shattered.

That was all the excuse the hot-blooded hunter needed to spook, and Garafin reared up, snatching the lead-rope out of the hands of one envoy. The stallion rounded on the other, who dropped the lead and bolted under the nearest table. Now the whole assembly of hopeful suitors was braying, and Deruthiel rose with his jaw firmly set, meaning to re-capture the fractious horse and take himself out with what remained of his dignity.

They had not counted on the princess, however. At the sight of the stallion, Cadelinyth had risen. When he broke free, she ran lightly down from the dais, and his next charge was at her. She stepped easily aside, catching his reins, and clucked gently to him. Ignoring the laughter along with the cries to beware, she reeled him in, snorting and stamping defiance. “Hush, beauty,” she crooned, and Garafin at last bowed his head. She scratched him under the forelock, and for the first time the assembled royalty fell silent.

“This is indeed a princely gift, my king,” Cadelinyth said, turning to favor Deruthiel with a smile.

He bowed to her, not trusting his tongue with more than, “I am pleased that you find him so, princess.”

Della looked back toward her parents. “This hunter is a spirited beast, Mother. May I take him to the stables? I fear he would not welcome another’s hand.”

The sorceress simply waved a hand in dismissal, but her eyes on Deruthiel were blank with fury. He sat back down, feeling as if he had adverted a catastrophe by mere luck … yet knowing he had not yet won the day.

There was to be a dance afterward, to which the princess herself was almost late. All of the suitors claimed her hand at one time or another, and Deruthiel hung back, not wanting to step on the toes of anyone who outranked him. They were all glaring his way, now, since the princess had been more enamored of his gift than the costlier and more extravagant ones they had brought.

At last, though, Cadelinyth pretended not to see a prince moving toward her, and darted to Deruthiel’s side. “Quick, Thiel, come and save me from these feather-headed young fools,” she whispered, catching his hand.

He swept her out onto the dance floor, again feeling her mother’s eyes on him like leaden clouds threatening to storm. “Do all the eligible kings and princes of the fae so disappoint you then, my lady?” he asked.

Della rolled her eyes. “Be glad you are a man! I have had my eyes compared to limpid pools thirteen times. To glorious skies, sixteen. Mysterious jewels, however, wins the poll at twenty-two.  _All_ of them complimented my dancing, even after I stepped on their toes for spite! At least you know there is more than fluff behind these pretty eyes.”

“I would never accuse you of fluff, Della,” he said, slipping into that familiar address. “Though the owl has lovely feathers, one must remember its talons, too.”

She chuckled. “You poor thing. I hope I didn’t startle you too much. Still, I owed you at least one good shock, for having the gall to take me prisoner.”

“Consider me appropriately chastened,” he told her.

She laughed, and leaned close to him. “Let me warn you this time, then. I intend to get rid of the rest of them, and make it clear to my mother that  _you_ are my choice. Father told me why she is so protective, but she must understand that denying me the one I want is nearly as bad as her parents forcing her to accept someone she didn’t.”

Deruthiel filed that information away for future pondering, but he was more worried about what she’d said. “Are you so sure it’s me you want, Della? There are a dozen men here wealthier and more powerful and more handsome. My kingdom is not half so great as theirs, and I could not keep you in the style which you deserve.”

She clicked her tongue at him disapprovingly. “Thiel, you wound me. Not one of them had the wit to ask me what I like, nor the daring to spirit me away. And you  _are_ the handsomest, so far as I am concerned, but I would love you if you looked an ogre. As for the style in which I deserve, and the greatness of your kingdom – I am my father’s daughter, and have slept as an owl in the shelter of a pine tree on a stormy night. I have no need of cosseting. I am also my mother’s daughter, nearly as nimble a sorceress as she, and when it is  _our_ kingdom, I will help you bring your lands to their full glory.” She cocked her head, and laughed. “That  _is_ what you had in mind in courting me, is it not? Or was it merely the bejeweled eyes and rosebud mouth and fair bosom?”

He couldn’t help stammering at that, and Della threw her head back to laugh. Despite the venomous glares of the other princes, Thiel got himself under control. “I admit your beauty was a temptation, but yes, it was for your blood I stole you. Still it is for  _you_ that I would keep you, even if you looked like a lowland dwarf and had all the magic of a mud puddle.”

“Then you’ve paid the price for your presumption,” Della said. The music was changing, and he would have to relinquish her hand. Before she left, she looked seriously at him again. “Make certain your stallion rests easily tonight, Thief-King,” she told him. It sounded curt enough that those who wished to might believe it was a veiled insult, an implication that he ought to sleep in the stables.

Thiel knew her better. Her eyes told him she meant to meet him there, and it would be good to speak to her again without a thousand eyes upon them. He dared not hope for more. Letting her go, he quit the dance floor entirely in relief. Perhaps he could go refresh himself with a glass or two of wine, and see if his roiling stomach would accept a honeycake or two.

Peace was not to be had. The moment Thiel ducked out of the main room, he felt a tap on his elbow. He whirled; few fae could sneak up on him, and in this context, it could not be a friend.

Instead he saw Della’s father, Jarrek. Once a seneschal, now prince-consort of the realm, he regarded Deruthiel with the piercing gray eyes of the owl he had been before all of that. “My daughter loves you,” Jarrek said calmly.

Thiel gave a slight bow. Something warned him to be honest, and not to speak as a courtier. “I … yes, she does. I do not deserve her, but she loves me, and I love her. I beg your forgiveness, sir.”

“Forgiveness? Do you think you have wronged her, then?” Jarrek asked. His tone was mild, as if they were discussing something unrelated to either.

Spreading his hands to indicate his dismay, Thiel groped for words. “I should not have stolen her. My intentions were not honorable, though I swear to you my behavior was. That she loves me now is due to luck, not anything I’ve done. She deserves better than I can give her, but she will not have it.”

Jarrek nodded. “My Della inherited strength of will from both of us. If you are the one she wants, and you love her, then there is no point in trying to defy her wishes. However, should you be lying, King Deruthiel…” Those dark eyes suddenly turned absolute black, and Thiel was abruptly reminded that this man had begun life as a  _predator_ , a highly efficient hunter and killer, albeit of mice. 

“If you mean my daughter harm, I need not threaten you. I have taught her well, as has her mother. If all of this is a sham and you break her heart, I pity you. She will _destroy_ you. And I will only hope she leaves a shred or two for her mother and I to rend.” With that, and a courteous nod, Jarrek took himself back to his place in the ballroom.

With those words in his ears, Thiel was only too happy to escape to the stables and the company of the horses.

Della found him there, hours later, grooming Garafin. The stallion was drowsy, but still aimed a halfhearted nip at Thiel’s arm once in a while, as if he knew his own reputation. Della let herself into the stall, and before Thiel could say anything to her, she caught him by the collar and dragged him down for a kiss.

The sweet press of her lips was enough to occupy his entire mind, at least until Garafin felt neglected and shifted his weight, throwing both of them against the side of the stall. Della laughed. “Be still, jealous one,” she said, petting Garafin.

“I take that to mean you’re still set on choosing me?” Thiel said, rather breathless.

“My mother is being … overprotective,” Della said, and there was steel under her sweet voice. 

“She loves you,” Thiel told her.

“That she does,” Della replied. “But _I_ love _you_. And I mean to have you, Thief-King, whether my mother approves or not.”

“My heart is yours, whether she grants me your hand or I must suffer alone,” he said. Never in his life had Deruthiel said such frank words to a woman, laying his soul bare. Della deserved no less.

She smiled craftily, and took his hands. “It isn’t your heart I mean to have tonight, Thiel,” Della murmured. “There’s a very quiet hayloft just upstairs.”

He was entirely and completely doomed … but more so if her mother caught them. That did not stop him, however.

 

…

 

The following morning, most of the suitors were gone, and those left were packing. Thiel stayed, mainly because there was a note in Della’s handwriting shoved under his door (where he had finally gone, rather later than expected) that told him to come to breakfast.

Much to his surprise, she wasn’t there. The sorceress herself glared daggers at him, but Jarrek waved a page over to bring him a bowl of porridge. “Be welcome, King Deruthiel,” the owl-born said.

“Thank you,” Deruthiel replied, and bowed deeply. He took a seat down the table from them, keeping a wary eye on the sorceress.

Who spoke, coldly as ever. “It seems my daughter will consider no other suit save yours,” Iswyniel told him, and the spoonful of honey-sweetened porridge caught on his tongue. Thiel nearly choked in surprise. Was she going to just give in to her daughter’s will?

Of course not. “You have, as yet, not proven your worthiness to  _me_ ,” Iswyniel continued. Thiel noticed that Jarrek glanced at her, but the owl-born was difficult to read, and his expression might have been disinterest, or disapproval. The sorceress-queen began naming off conditions, a list of feats Deruthiel would have to perform before she would consider his suit. 

Somewhere between ‘feather of a golden griffin’ and ‘water from the well of knowledge’, Della arrived, and moved to stand behind Thiel’s chair. Her presence was welcome, for the list of requirements was far beyond his skill. To meet even half of them would take a century or two of constant effort, during which his kingdom would lie unattended. In short, it was impossible, and only Della’s small warm hands on the back of his chair kept him from stumbling out of the room in despair.

At last Iswyniel wound down. “Do this, King Deruthiel, and I will grant you my daughter’s hand in marriage.” She smiled at him then, as a cat smiles at a captured mouse.

Della sighed, loudly. She stepped around the chair, lifted Thiel’s arm, and settled herself in his lap. The memories of the previous evening were recent enough that he hurriedly made himself think of the queen’s cold cruel voice, as an antidote to the warmth of Della in his arms.

“Mother, please, you know that is outrageous,” Della began, then chased all thoughts of warmth away with words that ran down Thiel’s spine like ice. “He has already had rather more than my hand, and I told you I _do_ intend to marry him, with or without your blessing. If necessary, I will run away to Etaron and get myself pregnant by him. I know it is a challenge for our kind, but I’m sure Thiel will be more than willing.”

Thiel sat frozen as the queen’s eyes bored into him savagely.  _She’s going to kill me. The Sorceress-Queen of Astolwyr is going to kill me where I sit. Please, let my men escape alive._

“You told me,” she said in clipped, icy tones, “that he had not coerced you while he held you prisoner.”

“And he did not,” Della replied, lifting her chin. “Thiel was quite the gentleman. It wasn’t until last night that I bedded him.”

“Last night.” The queen’s hands gripped the edge of the table tightly, and servants fled as raw magic crackled and spat around her. “Under my roof.”

Della lounged back against him, still meeting her mother’s furious eyes. “Under the barn roof, actually.”

Now Iswyniel’s eyes were  _literally_ blazing, blue-white flames of magic dancing from her pupils. “How. Appropriate.”

From anyone else, that would be a killing insult, to imply that the King of Etaron was no more than a stable-boy, or even livestock. But Thiel simply scrunched himself down in the chair and prayed fervently to all the old gods that Della would stop talking before her mother blasted them both with wrathful magic.

Della only clicked her tongue. “Speak not so, please. Mother, I love him.”

Iswyniel lunged up from her chair, and roared, “ _You are a child! You know nothing of love!_ ” The chandeliers above swung wildly, and Thiel feared that her wrath might shake the foundations of the castle itself.

“I am a woman, older than you were when your parents made your choices for you,” Della replied. “I should have thought, Mother, that you of all people would understand that only _I_ can choose whom I will marry.”

The sorceress snarled at that, and Thiel peeked around Della’s shoulder to see that Jarrek was looking at his wife with concern. Della went on, “I know of love, Mother. Thiel is not the first man I’ve ever slept with – I did not love the others, but they were good company, for a time. And long since gone from your kingdom, lest you hunt them down.”

With a wry smile, she continued, “I grew to love him while I lived at his castle, and you  _know_ I could have left if I wished. True, had Thiel tried to harm me, I would have made him rue it. But he never did. He  _courted_ me, Mother, gently and kindly, shy as a scholar. He loves poetry, and his hounds and horses, and he likes me best when I argue with him. And what I feel for him is the desire to know him better, to share all I know and all I will learn with him, and the need to protect him – even from you. Is that not love, Mother?”

Iswyniel seethed, but Jarrek spoke then. “She does have a point.”

“And you would let her run off with this _half-breed_ ,” Iswyniel snarled, turning those burning eyes on her husband.

That Deruthiel’s father was human, a warrior of Celtic race, was well known. His father’s blood was the reason why he was able to grow a beard, as most fae could not, and why his ears were not pointed. But to call him such, to throw it in his face, was to invite retribution. He bridled, yet held his tongue – it would not do to enrage her further, when Cadelinyth was doing such a thorough job of it.

Jarrek only shrugged, impassive in the face of his wife’s rage. “You cannot make that argument, my love, since you married your owl.”

“A _fae_ owl, at least,” Iswyniel growled, but it was the first time she had softened at all in the course of the argument.

Jarrek let that pass. “As I told him yesterday, we raised her well, you and I.  _Not_ as you were raised. If he hurts her, she will destroy him, and we will only have the consolation of defacing his grave.”

Now Della rose, and moved toward her mother – still shielding Thiel with her own body. “Mother, please listen,” she said softly. “I know why you fear for me. What you do not understand is that it is I who must be gentle with Thiel. He is hopelessly in love with me, and in my youth and carelessness I could wound him sorely without meaning to do so. I need not fear him; it is he who might fear me, save that you and Father did not raise me to be cruel. Please see this, Mother. He is my love and my choice.”

“He has little magic of his own, and only a paltry kingdom,” Iswyniel complained.

“I am mage enough for both of us,” Della countered. “If I married a great sorcerer, I could be only his assistant. Thiel knows me well enough to trust in my power. As for his kingdom, I have no wish to marry for political advantage. Doing so served you ill; I would rather wed for love, as you wed Father.”

Iswyniel sat down heavily, still glaring, but the effects of her angry magic had died down, and her eyes were a clear cold blue again. “You have puzzled it all out in advance, my cunning daughter,” she said flatly. “If I defy you, I become the wicked mother of the tales, and your swain the handsome hero who rescues you from me.”

“No,” Deruthiel said, shocked at his own temerity. “No, Your Majesty, you are no villain, and this is no tale. You love your daughter, and I have given you no reason to trust me. I stole her from you; that she stayed with me was her own choice, and that she loved me was more blessing than I deserve. It is only wisdom that makes you despise me.”

Della turned to him, surprised, as Deruthiel rose from his seat, only to bow deeply before the queen. “I do not deserve your forgiveness, Your Majesty, but I will do my humble best to earn it. I love your daughter. I thought I was making an advantageous match in capturing her, but now I see I am the one who is caught.” It was shameful, yes, not to protest Della’s earlier assertion that he was helpless against her – but it was true. And boasting would only make the sorceress strike him down.

“Well. I see you are not _entirely_ stupid,” Iswyniel said, and Della rolled her eyes at her mother.

“As for you, Della,” he continued, turning to her. “Your mother _loves you_. I will not be the cause of enmity between two who love each other so dearly. So I say this, before witnesses, and my word is my bond: if you come to my kingdom _without_ your mother’s blessing, I will send you home.”

Her jaw actually dropped; clearly Della was unused to being stymied. She wasn’t the only one surprised. Iswyniel actually started back, staring at him for once as if he wasn’t some sort of loathsome insect.

Jarrek, meanwhile, laughed. “Daughter mine, I believe you have met your match.”

“But Thiel,” Della began, and he hushed her.

“You made your proclamation. Now I’ve made mine. And now, Queen Iswyniel, it is time you made yours.” Deruthiel turned to her, resolute now. Yes, she was fearsome, but it was against his nature to behave without honor. He could only stand before her, as his father had once stood before a legion of angry fae, and be truthful. “I love your daughter. Name your conditions, I will meet them, though it take me a thousand years. At the end of them I will love her still, and _half-breed_ though I am, I will live that long.”

The owl-born trilled, and the queen shot him a dark look. “Damn you all,” Iswyniel said. “This is your fault, Jarrek. She gets her stubbornness from you.”

“Mother, do you even listen to yourself?” Della cut in. “As if you did not raise this kingdom by stubborn refusal to give in!”

Iswyniel clicked her tongue, then rested her forehead in her hands, rubbing at her temples. “You show yourself to be nobler than I, King of Etaron.”

And now he had to be very, very careful, for she was close to granting them what they wanted, and it would be too easy to misstep. “You are a mother who loves your child and wishes to protect her,” he said. “You want only the best for her. What is nobler than that?”

“Smarter than I thought, braver than I expected, and forgiving, too,” Iswyniel muttered. “Very well, then. Della says you love to hunt. There is a beast in my realm that troubles my small folk. Bring me its head, and you may marry my daughter.”

The beast was a young dragon, not quite old enough to fly, but its fiery breath was just as deadly. Thiel and his men, and some of Astolwyr’s guards as well, tracked it down and slew it, with none lost though all of them were singed. He brought its head to the sorceress, dined on its roast heart that night, and had his burns healed by Della later that evening. Later than that, she soothed something else that ached for her, and as they lay snuggled together afterward she admitted she had feared to lose him. “You will never lose me, love,” he told her. “Even if I die, my shade will come back to haunt you. I owe you a few frights for telling your mother I’d bedded you.” She had laughed, and slept contentedly in his arms.

He and Della wed three months later, with all manner of ceremony. If Iswyniel gave her away reluctantly, she did not show it then, and Thiel was careful to honor her at every opportunity. He carried Della across the threshold of his castle to the thunderous applause of his servants, and thought their tale might end in ‘happily ever after’.

Of course, within the week she was running the castle, making plans to expand their borders, and riding Garafin to hunt the dangerous creatures that lurked out there. But then, Deruthiel had known from the start that he was doomed.

 


	16. In the Shadow of the Crown

Sarah pried her eyes open with a groan. At first, all she could remember of the last night was finally hearing the story of how Jareth’s parents got together – and yeah, he  _definitely_ got his arrogance from his mother. Luckily Della was sweet-tempered.

She lay staring at the ceiling, scowling in thought. There had been a lot of wine, though she tried to drink slowly, and vague recollections of dancing with Jareth flickered across her mind. The official welcome of his parents had turned to a night of revelry, which Sarah didn’t mind at all … but the aftermath was painful.

The covers were tugged to the side as something small climbed up on the bed. Sarah hastily blinked, her eyes finally focusing on Neesk, carrying a flask almost as big as he was. “Kingy sez make ya drink this when ya wake up,” he chirped, holding it out and almost overbalancing.

It couldn’t be coffee, she still hadn’t remembered to bring more down, but anything that took the taste out of her mouth would be welcome. Sarah reached for the flask, pulled its cork, and drank it down.

The drink was ice-cold and tasted strongly of mint, making her eyes water. Coughing and spluttering, she almost swore out loud … but realized her headache was gone. “Damn, you could sell that at New Year’s and make millions,” she said, amazed.

“No more hurty head?” Neesk asked, and when she nodded, he bounced up happily and scampered off.

Sarah got out of bed, washed up, and got dressed. In the process she noticed that the light coming in was much brighter than it should’ve been. It was past noon – and now she remembered going outside to toast the sunrise with Jareth, Deruthiel, and Cadelinyth. They had  _still_ been drinking when they came back in for breakfast, but at some point she’d tumbled off to bed.

“Note to self: don’t party with the fae,” Sarah muttered, brushing the tangles from her hair. She’d woken alone, in her own room, and headed downstairs wearily. Even if her hangover was gone, her sleep hadn’t exactly been restful.

When she reached the kitchens, Beldych took one look at her and shook his antlered head. “Nothing fancy for lunch,” he proclaimed. “Bread, cheese, a little fruit. The lot of you nearly drained the cellars last night, so your belly needs to rest.”

“You’re a lifesaver,” she sighed. Only moments later she was sitting at the kitchen table eating soft cheese spread over chunks of bread and slices of freshly-picked apple.

Sarah habitually ate in the kitchen when she was alone. It was cozier than the formal dining room or the semi-formal breakfast nook, and she didn’t like making the servers run back and forth when it was just her. Jareth didn’t, preferring to keep a little royal distance, but he did stop in the kitchens to grab a bite rather than be served, and he knew all his kitchen staff by name.

Sarah had just about finished when Cadelinyth arrived. Jareth’s mother looked cheerful and well-rested, just as if she hadn’t matched the men drink for drink all night. “Sarah! Good morning, or good afternoon, as it were. How do you feel?”

“Like ten miles of bad road,” Sarah laughed. “Jareth sent me up a hangover cure, which helped a lot, but I still feel like maybe mortals shouldn’t try to drink like fae.”

Della chuckled. “Poor thing. You look exhausted. Has my son taught you to refresh yourself from Umardelin’s magic?”

She could only shake her head. “Not yet. I’m still learning theory. The last thing he wants – or I want – is me pulling on the Labyrinth’s power in a moment of surprise up Above, and blowing up a building or something.”

“That _would_ be disastrous. Here, let me.” Della reached out and let her fingertips rest against Sarah’s forehead lightly. She didn’t have time to politely refuse; before the words reached her lips, her exhaustion had vanished, and she felt like she’d slept a week. 

Della sat down across from her, accepting a cup of tea from Beldych. “Now that you owe me a favor,” she said, her eyes twinkling, “I’ll ask one of you. When you go Above next, Sarah, would you please take me with you? I have not been in decades.”

Sarah sighed. If Della wasn’t so charming, she’d call the fae woman pushy and manipulative, but the pleading look in her eyes was real. “It’s really not all that fascinating. And I would’ve thought, powerful as you are, that you could go anytime you liked.”

“I could – to certain regions. The Celtic lands still know us and welcome our tread. But the Americas … it’s different, here. I couldn’t make my way to New York City without invitation, or traveling by mundane means. And I don’t particularly want to stay Above for an entire day. Someone like me would get noticed, and I prefer not to go starting wars with the exiles.”

She’d invoked Sarah’s curiosity, and since she was willing to answer, Sarah asked, “Okay, but why New York? It doesn’t strike me as a fae kind of city, anyway, for all that there  _are_ fae living there.”

Della grinned. “The shopping, darling. Last time I went Above, I brought back a miniskirt. Thiel nearly gave himself apoplexy.”

Sarah groaned. “Oh, Jareth is  _so_ your son. All right, I’ll take you on a shopping trip – but we have to stay incognito. I don’t want to throw the urban fae into a panic.”

“Nor do I, darling. I just want to put that scandalized look on Thiel’s face again. He’s not so fond of the world Above, and he doesn’t keep up with fashion trends and such.”

“I’d imagine most fae aren’t too thrilled about the modern world. All that steel.”

Della settled in, tucking her feet underneath her. “Well, yes. But Thiel’s worse than most. His father was human – think of the legend of Ossian. It was that sort of situation. That’s why he has the beard, you know. A full-blooded fae can’t grow one. Anyway, for Thiel, your world is a sharp reminder of all the things the purer fae mock him for, behind his back.” She smiled, showing her teeth in a way that was sharply reminiscent of her son. “At least, they  _used_ to. Then he married the sorceress’ daughter, and she suffers no insult to her husband.”

“Unless you’re the one doing the insulting,” Sarah pointed out, and Della had to laugh.

Thiel arrived at that moment. “Are you badgering the poor woman again? Let her alone, Della, she’s not going to take you Above just to be dragged around like a dog on a short leash.”

“Actually, my love, Sarah already agreed to take me shopping,” Della said with an infectious grin.

He sighed. “Make sure  _she_ pays, then, Sarah. And our son sent me to find you both. Apparently we’re going for a ride, to see the sights.” Thiel shuddered. “He’s already agreed to leave something called the Bog of Stench  _off_ the tour. I can’t imagine.”

“The forest is actually a lot of fun,” Sarah said. “And I’ve got friends who live around the hedge maze. I wonder if it’ll toss out anything new, for you two.”

Thiel shuddered again. “I like my lands  _stable_ , thank you very much. Umardelin has always been called the Unmastered, but I had no idea it was that changeable.”

“It’s the power. And the Labyrinth,” Della said. “You know what this place is, love.”

“A trap for people who read the wrong book,” Sarah scoffed.

They both looked at her strangely, but it was Della who spoke. “Darling, the Labyrinth is more than that. This place … it is the punishment for those who mock the fae. All the legends tell of changelings – which yes, some of us did. When you cannot bear a child of your own, sometimes desperate measures are taken. Every mortal who knows anything about the fae, knows that we have stolen children since time immemorial. And if someone who  _does_ believe, even a little, should openly  _wish_ for us to take their child, well … the Labyrinth answers. It’s always been the goblins who do the thieving, as they are the best at concealment, and moving between realms.”

“It’s not entirely unfair,” Thiel added, as one of the scullions drew up a chair for him. He thanked the goblin absentmindedly as he sat down. “The Labyrinth offers a chance to win the child back, for someone who’s brave and clever enough. As for the book, I imagine the kingdom created that to stir up a little more belief, and get itself more runners in the modern age. It can do things like that without consulting its king, which neither Etaron nor Astolwyr can. I don’t envy my son.”

Now that she was sober and rested and had the time to contemplate, Sarah looked up at Deruthiel thoughtfully. She could see his human traits, not just the beard but also rounded ears, which Jareth also had. Della’s ears were pointed, as were most of the fae that Sarah had seen, though admittedly few of them were of the same ‘high’ fae race. The weight of his brows and the strong jaw might have made him appear imposing, but his eyes were kind. And whenever Della teased him, his expression was an echo of her own father’s long-suffering yet amused look.

Thiel looked older than Della – who in turn, looked younger than Sarah herself. And Jareth looked about the same age as Thiel. Sarah frowned, and decided to just ask, since they were both rather forthcoming. Besides, if the answer was embarrassing, at least Jareth hadn’t joined them yet. “Forgive me if this rude,” she began. “But … how do fae age? Because Jareth looks the same as he did fifteen years ago, but Della, you look even younger than me.”

Both of them sighed, and Thiel took Della’s hand. She was the one who spoke, though, soft and a little regretful. “We look, to a certain extent, how we want to look. I am close to five centuries old, Sarah, yet I still  _feel_ young. So I don’t show my age. Thiel bears the weight of royal responsibility a little more strongly that I do, and the strain of that burden shows.”

“Not that you don’t shoulder your share of it,” Thiel cut in, giving her hand a little squeeze. “As for Jareth … I thought he would be like Della, and look to be in his twenties all his life. Within a decade of coming here, however, the stress of this realm had aged him.”

Sarah felt a little chill run down her spine at that. Jareth had told her about his predecessor, King Thydus, whom the goblins had killed. And whenever he spoke of the curse that bound him here, she heard the pain of it in his tone. But to know that living here had aged him some twenty years, when a fae like him could go centuries without aging at all … that truly brought home to her how much pressure he’d been under.

Before she could dwell on it, Jareth himself arrived. “You know we have a perfectly good breakfast room,” he said, looking skeptically at all of them.

“But for a chef of Beldych’s caliber, we prefer to be as close to the ovens as possible,” Della shot back with a grin. Perhaps only Sarah saw the stag duck his head and blush a little.

Jareth just rolled his eyes. “Beldych, if they are underfoot, I give you the authority to throw the lot of them out. That goes for any visitor – except the High King himself, and my grandmother.”

“Smart boy,” Thiel muttered, and Sarah stifled her laugh.

Jareth cut him an arch look, by which Thiel remained utterly unfazed. “I have horses saddled for us all. Speaking of which, Sarah, are you comfortable riding? Or shall I bring a carriage?”

“I took enough riding lessons in my teens, I should be fine,” Sarah replied. “As long as we keep a sane pace.”

“I’d better leave Garafin behind for this one,” Della murmured.

“Your palfrey is being readied, Mother. Having been bitten by that horse, I had no wish to bring him along,” Jareth replied.

Sarah sat blinking in the knowledge that Garafin was still alive – apparently fae horses aged more slowly, too. Jareth shooed them all out to the stables, where Sarah was gratefully mounted on a sedate horse, and they set off.

Their route took them through the Goblin City, whose inhabitants looked at them curiously and gave them friendly greetings and waves. Sarah was content to let her horse follow the others, just enjoying the sunny warmth of the day, when her placid mount suddenly spooked and shied. She had to grab a handful of mane to stay on.

“Easy, horsie,” a familiar voice chirped behind her, and Sarah turned to see Neesk climbing the horse’s tail. It snorted and shook itself, as Neesk hopped to her shoulder to peer around.

She was about to greet him, when Thiel looked around and saw her. His lip curled in distaste, and he asked suddenly, “You let that thing that close to your face?”

Jareth reined in, bristling, but Sarah’s vision went awash with gold, and she nudged her horse forward before he could speak. “ _That thing_ is our loyal subject, King of Etaron,” Sarah said, shocked at her own temerity. She had already begun to like Thiel, and her response was sharper for it. Sarah expected better from Jareth’s father. And seeing the little goblin nervously gnawing his tail – which she pulled from his mouth with infinite gentleness – only irked her the more. “Neesk is a good friend, and my royal page, as well. He deserves no disrespect.”

“And in our lands, he will suffer none,” Jareth added sternly.

Thiel blinked at them, as Della slipped her foot out of the stirrup and kicked him in the shin. “My apologies, Jareth, Sarah,” he said.

“Don’t apologize to me,” Sarah replied quickly. “It’s Neesk you insulted.”

He gave her a sour look, but gathered himself and half-bowed from the saddle. “I pray you will forgive my lapse of manners, Neesk,” Thiel said in his most formal tones.

Neesk stood up tall on her shoulder, looking the high fae king in the eye. “’S okay,” he replied. “You’s forgiven.”

“Thank you,” Della said, and cut Thiel another look. He just sighed, though he did look chastened. All around them, the goblins who had watched this little drama went back about their business, perhaps with a certain satisfaction.

Sarah decided a change of subject was in order, and asked the question that had been lurking in the back of her mind since she’d woken up. “So, do fae always get drunk at reunions? Or am I just lucky?”

Thiel glanced at Jareth, and both men chuckled. “You’re lucky, my dear,” Thiel replied. “We _do_ drink at festive occasions, and if I recall correctly, my son was the first to propose a toast to the breaking of the curse. And then I offered a toast to our happy reunion. And then Jareth offered a toast to you.”

“By the end of it, they were toasting every course of the meal, every servant who walked in, and at one point, silver buttons,” Della said dryly. 

“Silver buttons?” Sarah laughed.

“Without which one couldn’t keep one’s clothes fastened,” Jareth replied, with great dignity. “It made sense at the time.” She ruined that by snickering at him.

They rode mostly through the forest, with the Fireys keeping pace by their mounts, but since none of them would take off their heads, the Fireys eventually got bored and moved on. Sarah smiled at them now; she’d been afraid that they were gone, somehow. As it turned out, they just hadn’t been present for her last run because they weren’t frightening enough. The wild gang, as they liked to be known, patrolled their stretch of forest eagerly. The area Sarah had crossed in her last run was now the domain of the beast of voices, which they thankfully avoided on this trip.

Jareth took them into the hedge maze briefly, their horses’ hooves clopping on the cobbles. Mounted guards trotted past, saluting smartly, and from the back of her horse Sarah could see nipper guards in the distance. All was well, in this part of the Labyrinth.

“We do have a giant serpent,” Jareth was saying. “It comes to this section occasionally, and the guards push it back. Normally it inhabits the stone maze, but I do not think it finds much to eat there.”

“When you say ‘giant’,” Thiel began.

Sarah chuckled. “It’s like forty or fifty feet. _Giant_. Scared the hell out of me on my second run.”

“Closer to sixty,” Jareth replied. 

“And you just have random creatures appear in your realm, on a regular basis,” Thiel said slowly.

Jareth shrugged one shoulder. “This is the Labyrinth, Father. It does as it pleases. Be glad we skirted around the beast of voices.”

Having just thought of that monster, Sarah shivered. Della saw her reaction, and asked, “What exactly is  _that_ ?”

“Bad,” Sarah said shortly. “Very bad, is what it is.”

“It emits a poisonous fog,” Jareth said. “Worse, it speaks in the voices of those you love, telling you the worst and most hurtful things they’ve ever said to you. Then it begins speaking falsehoods, in their voices. It makes you doubt yourself.”

Sarah shuddered again. “Yeah, no. I don’t  _ever_ want to deal with that thing again.”

“You dealt with it admirably the last time, love,” Jareth pointed out. “I have hopes that it will disappear on its own. Few runners require such a creature, and the Labyrinth itself is keeping it confined to one small area. If not, we may need to take measures.”

“Doesn’t sound like something that would be easy to hunt,” Thiel said.

“It almost got us both,” Sarah said. “This is one time I could see where bringing Aboveground weapons into this place would be useful. I’d rather shoot it from a distance. A _big_ distance.”

“It doesn’t sound _that_ terrifying,” Della ventured.

Thiel scoffed. “Not to you, my heart. But I’m certain it would tell me in your voice that you never loved me, you only used me to gain a kingdom and get out from your mother’s thumb. And that I am a fool to let you rule me.”

“Thiel!” she exclaimed, staring round-eyed at him. “You don’t really think that, do you? Because it’s … it’s lunacy! And it’s vicious, too. You know I’d never be so cruel.”

“It takes your worst memories, and your worst fears, straight from your mind,” Jareth said gravely. “With me, it began by repeating the words of my exile in _your_ voice, Father. The gods alone know what else it would’ve said, if Sarah and I hadn’t attacked it in unison.”

Della gave a shudder of disgust. “If you decide to hunt this beast, son, tell me. I’ll want a piece of its hide for even making Thiel  _think_ of such things.” Her voice was suddenly cold, and its tone reminded Sarah that this woman  _was_ a bird of prey, not just a lovely princess grown into a beautiful and charming queen.

“And I would not let you go,” Thiel cut in. “The only thing worse than hearing such words, would be learning what it would do to _you_ , Della. I cannot imagine you in doubt or despair. I don’t want to witness that.” The look that passed between them made Sarah smile; the love and concern were so very clear.

Jareth cleared his throat, attracting their attention. “This is about the end of the tour; you saw the stone maze on your way in, and I doubt you want to see the oubliettes. We’ll close with one of the Labyrinth’s newest features, and a picnic supper in the same.” He winked at Sarah when he said it, and she grinned.

Which meant she was explaining to Thiel and Della how Umardelin had recreated her favorite park as they settled down on blankets spread over the soft, springy grass. “Sarah declaimed the lines from the play to me, in this park’s inspiration,” Jareth said teasingly.

“Oh, shut up,” she grumbled at him, but her eyes smiled. “You just happened to be the right bird at the right time.”

“Sounds familiar,” Thiel chuckled.

The kitchen staff had sent out slices of cold roast meats, fresh buttery rolls, crisp salad greens, and a variety of sauces, with sweet cider to accompany it all. The four of them applied themselves to the food with a will, and Neesk even managed to eat a sandwich almost half his own size, after which he promptly fell asleep. Sarah didn’t think about politics at all until Thiel asked, “So what plans have you made for the coronation?”

Jareth reached for another helping of fiery-hot sauce, and replied, “The guest list will effectively be  _everyone_ . The menu and venue are set. Sarah’s going to be approving the crown design tomorrow – she approved sketches, but we need to check weight and fit, so any quibbles with the look of the thing can be addressed at the same time. All I need to do is arrange the ceremony itself, and for that I need your assistance. I can’t crown her myself.”

“Of course not,” Thiel said, as if it were a foregone conclusion.

Della cocked her head at them, birdlike. “Why not? You crowned me, Thiel.”

He sighed, sipping cider. “Yes, and all the realms know who you are, love. I put the crown on you to make the point that you rule through  _me_ . I am the rightful king by blood of Etaron, and you are its queen because you wed me. Our son is trying to make the point that Sarah rules by her  _own_ right.”

“And I don’t?” Della asked, arching an eyebrow.

Thiel shook his head at her, amused. “No one doubts you could’ve taken Etaron by force, if you’d wanted. Gods know you run the kingdom now, more than I do. I crowned you to make it clear that it was by my choice that you rule as my equal.” He grinned. “I may be the damned  _definition_ of hen-picked husband, but at least they know I  _chose_ this, you irrepressible, impossible wretch.” Della smiled back, her eyes alight.

Jareth broke in then. “Whereas Sarah is human. I want it made  _very_ clear that she rules because Umardelin chose her,  _before_ I marry her. I will not have the nobles looking askance at her, as they did to my grandfather in Etaron.”

Sarah noticed that Thiel’s expression became very controlled. “You never knew my father,” he said quietly.

Jareth reached out and laid a hand on the older man’s shoulder. “But I know you, Father. And you bear your human heritage with grief. We are a cruel race, we fae, when dealing with those we think stronger than ourselves. Particularly against humans, who can bear iron, who bear children so easily. I have too much of Mother’s temper to accept the scorn of my kind against my lover. So I will expound on the possibility that Sarah has some fae blood, and show them all that Umardelin  _chose_ her. If any nay-say her after that, then they will suffer her wrath and mine.”

It was Sarah’s turn to intervene. “Jareth,  _I don’t care_ . If the fae are going to look down their noses at me for being human, let them. What they think doesn’t matter. You love me, your parents like me, and Umardelin loves me.” She hesitated a moment, but the depth of her feelings required absolute clarity. “The rest of them can go fuck themselves, for all I care.”

The profanity raised eyebrows on Della and Thiel, and made Jareth look at her disapprovingly. A moment later, Della laughed. “Indeed! Most of the ones who would disparage you could  _use_ a private indulgence or two. It might sweeten their tempers. I’ll make sure to suggest it, if they speak so to me. And in your words.”

“Mother!” Jareth yelped, at the same time Thiel groaned her name. She only laughed at them both.

 


	17. On the Outskirts

On their return from the picnic (with Neesk asleep in Sarah’s saddlebags, his stomach bulging alarmingly), the group had almost reached the castle when Jareth and Sarah both reined up short. A flickering haze of gold crossed her vision, and she felt a sudden restless irritation, as if some small insect were buzzing around her head. “The hell?” she muttered, swiping automatically at the air around her.

“We have a runner,” Jareth announced, looking at her. “Sarah, you feel it? That sense of trespass?”

Sarah closed her eyes then, concentrating of that insistent niggling feeling. Almost an warning of some sort, dancing along her mind and nerves. “It’s mostly annoying,” she replied, opening her eyes then to glance at him with the haze, a confused frown lightly on her lips. “Like an alarm of sorts that won’t stop going off.” A runner, here? Now? The thought upset her somehow, despite knowing the nature of the realm. This being her first since her return to Umardelin, she guessed she shouldn’t be surprised.

“That is how it feels when the goblins take a child,” he told her. “Come on, let’s go inside and see what we have. I wasn’t expecting this, today of all days.”

“Will a runner interfere with Sarah’s coronation?” Thiel asked, as they rode into the courtyard and turned their horses over to the stable hands. The saddlebag with Neesk in it was hung up near the door, so he could easily hop out when he woke.

“It will only take thirteen hours of our time,” Jareth said with a shrug. “Less, if the runner annoys me.”

In her highly-aware state, that rankled Sarah’s conscience in just the wrong

way. “Don’t even think it, Goblin King,” she growled, forgetting that they had an audience. “You play by the rules when I’m here. It’s a nasty move on your part; I know from experience.”

He glared at her. “I will do what I must, as Umardelin’s king.”

“And as her chosen,” she snapped back hotly, “and a former runner myself, I have grounds to call you on your bullsh–”

Further discussion was halted by an angry wail. Della managed to beat them all into the receiving chamber (formerly known as the throne room), where a tiny baby squalled in the center of a group of worried-looking goblins. “Poor thing,” Della crooned, and heedless of the hay she dropped to her knees to take the baby. “Shush, shush, little one. You’re quite safe here.”

The sight floored Sarah; for one moment, she was standing there again in the Outskirts, staring down from the hill overlooking the Labyrinth and the castle beyond. She’d been so mixed-up and scared and excited. It was reasonable to assume the runner, male or female, felt the same. That memory, this situation, awoke so many of those feelings, not to mention seeing the child currently in question itself. Her wide eyes fell on Jareth with uncomprehending disbelief. So this was what the view was from the opposite side. “Jareth, that’s a  _baby_ ,” Sarah finally managed in shocked tones, knowing she was stating the obvious, but still amazed. “God, he’s even younger than Toby was!”

“Babies are the most commonly wished away, seconded by boys from six to ten years,” Jareth told her dryly. “Infants demand the most attention, and apparently boys cause the most havoc.”

“You certainly did,” Thiel murmured, smiling at his son. 

The two men came to Della’s side to look over the baby. She’d risen with the infant in her arms and was swaying gently to soothe him. The goblins looked up at her in relief, and several of them were cooing at the child already. Jareth just sighed. “Well, damn. I suppose I’ve got to go and make an official appearance to this one’s mother or sister or whatever.”

“He’s darling,” Della scolded, and then added, “If the runner fails, can we keep him?”

How could all of them act like this was a common daily occurrence? As if it was the same as taking in a stray puppy or something? Sarah couldn’t help looking at the lot of them like they had lost their minds. “Cadelinyth, that’s  _someone’s child_ . You know, like Jareth was yours? It’s not a stray cat that wandered in from the rain! Hell, it didn’t even wander in; it was  _brought_ !”

The fae all looked at her, surprised by her objection. Sarah gave an exasperated sigh and tipped her head back, closing her eyes in exasperation. Of course she had  _heard_ them talking about taking children, they had told her themselves that the tales were true, but she still hadn’t expected Della to so casually mention keeping the baby.

“No, he isn’t a stray,” Della said, her voice patient. “Whoever had the care of him _wished for the goblins to take him_. And the goblins obliged. What else should we do?”

Still with her eyes closed, rubbing her forehead, Sarah responded, “I don’t know; let me give a completely wild suggestion here? How about we give him back?”

Jareth dropped his face into a gloved palm. “Oh, yes. Give him back. Sarah, have you any  _idea_ what havoc that would wreak? What’s said is said, precious.”

Oh, as if he hadn’t used that argument untold times already, even if he had been mostly right. Unable to stop herself, Sarah gave a snort of derision at that little reminder, but Thiel stepped in. “Sarah. We told you what the Labyrinth is and what it does. You would try to defy that ancient magic?”

That was a good question and Sarah lowered her head with a gusty sigh, training her gaze on all three of them. “Deruthiel, he’s a  _child_ . The outcome if he wins is that this baby becomes forfeit, a goblin by the Labyrinth’s decree. If no one had come for him, it would hurt to let it happen, but rules are rules. But that’s not the case; someone’s  _coming for him_ . He doesn’t deserve to suffer for someone else’s momentary mistake,” was her argument.

“He wouldn’t suffer with us,” Della pointed out.

Sarah tilted her chin up at that, shaking her head. That wasn’t good enough. “But he’d become something he’s not. Would you spend your life willingly as a goblin even when there could have been another choice? If someone wished to remedy their mistake?”

“In any case, Mother, you cannot keep him,” Jareth said. “If he’s forfeited, he becomes a goblin. Umardelin is jealous of its prizes. And no, Sarah, it is not suffering to become a goblin. Do you know how many children I receive who need intervention from someone in your line of work, and do not get it? At least here he will have a home, and a family that loves him.”

“What a pity,” Della sighed, dandling the little boy. He had calmed enough to babble, and grab a handful of her hair. “Ah well. Since it seems my son will not be inheriting Etaron, I suppose we ought to get to work on making another of our own, hmm?”

He looked askance at her, but smiled. “Perhaps, love. If that’s what you wish. It only took a century of trying the first time.”

She gave him a slow smile that Sarah found awkward to witness, and asked in honeyed tones, “Would that be such a terrible hardship for you, my dear Thiel?”

“Both of you, _stop_ before you drown us in treacle,” Jareth groaned. “Mother, Father, please forgive me. Duty calls. And Sarah…” 

“I’m not letting you do to her what you pulled on me, Jareth. It’s not right; if they came after him–”

He looked archly at her. “You may try to assist the runner. But the kingdom itself will not permit much intervention.  _Do not try to circumvent her_ . Me, you may war with as much as you choose. Umardelin is older and stronger than us both.”

Sarah raised an eyebrow at him, but he swirled out in a puff of iridescent magic. She huffed; Umardelin favored her, that much was clear. The question was, how much and just what was its exact purpose in choosing her, the first to best him twice, as its Champion? He’d  _said_ she could possibly assist the runner. So, if whoever wished the baby away was genuinely remorseful, that was exactly what she meant to do.

Della looked at her. “Sarah, I know my son has a large seeing-crystal somewhere about. Shall we watch the contest?”

“Sure,” Sarah said, grinning, a plan forming. It was dangerous, true, but if she was to be Queen, to live in this realm for untold years, there would be many more runners to come, she was sure. It was about time she began feeling out her limits, especially if it helped and didn’t harm.

If she saw his approach, she’d know better how to counter him. “It’s this way.” She waited a moment for Della to return the little boy to the goblins, then led her and Thiel to the tower. It occurred to her briefly that in the past, she never would’ve even considered leaving a captured baby with the goblins, but now she knew them better. Most of them had once been a child just like this one. They had been this baby, had been Tobe, once. And the way they crooned over him was proof enough that – once again – nothing here was what it seemed.

 

…

 

Jareth flared into existence, cloaked in dark shimmery robes. The runner, he saw, was young – maybe only nineteen or twenty years old. A scared little girl, really, staring at him in horror. “Oh my god,” she whispered. “There really is a king of the goblins.”

“Of course,” he said haughtily. 

The girl gulped, trying to regain her composure. “Listen – I want Henry back. I didn’t mean for the goblins to take him, not really.”

“Oh, you want him back now?” Jareth said, arching an eyebrow. He let one of the small seeing crystals walk back and forth across his knuckles, watching her with disdain. This part, the challenge, the jousting, was actually fun.

“He’s my son,” she replied earnestly. Her courage was growing, and he liked that too. Mortals ought to cower before the fae, but the ones who did so too readily were boring. “I love him, I loved him from the minute I felt him kick. I’d never _really_ send him away. I just haven’t slept more than two hours in the last week and he wouldn’t stop crying and I didn’t know what to _do_.” Her voice held the beginnings of a wail of frustration and disbelief.

“What a pity,” Jareth drawled, pacing around her. She turned like a hunted animal to keep him in sight. “I should like to give him back, truly I would. What need have I of a screaming whelp? But what’s said is said, little girl. The boy is mine now. He will make a fine goblin.” He grinned at her, showing his teeth, and all the while the crystal spun and danced in his hand.

“ _No!”_ the girl cried. “No, I need Henry back. He’s _mine_. He’s my son. He can’t be a goblin. You can’t keep him.” Defiance was rising in her, and anger, the steely mother-love Jareth had faced many a time before.

The children who were genuinely wished away by those who did not love or want them, he hated those encounters. When a parent or caretaker wouldn’t even fight for their child, Jareth tended to send the goblins Above to wreak havoc on their homes for weeks, even years, afterward. The ones like this, who’d said the words in a moment of peak frustration, but who truly loved their children, those he could respect. And little though Sarah would believe it, he wanted them to win.

It wasn’t Jareth’s choice, though. The contest was between the runner and the Labyrinth, and he only played his role. “You want him back? He’s there, in my castle.” Jareth turned, letting his magic open the way between realms. The Labyrinth stretched out before the girl’s despairing eyes, and Jareth smiled mockingly at her.

A gesture, and the clock appeared behind him. Now they were standing on the hill just outside his realm. “You have thirteen hours to solve the Labyrinth and reclaim the child. Otherwise, he becomes a goblin.”

The girl squared her shoulders. “Fine. I’ll get him back. You just wait and see.” Her eyes flashing hatred at him, she started down toward the entrance. Jareth leaned against the tree trunk and watched her go, thoughtfully. She had a better than even chance, he thought. Plenty of determination, and she truly loved the boy. For her sake, he hoped she succeeded.

His predecessor Thydus had never cared, one way or the other. The wise man had often lamented of it to Jareth. King Thydus would open the way to the Labyrinth, and not even watch the run. Or spend any time with the taken child. They were all drippy, germy mortal brats to him, until they became stinky, crude goblins. Which, the odor couldn’t be argued with – even a freshly-bathed goblin smelled a bit like old potatoes. But his disdain for both his duties and his subjects had eventually resulted in his death, and at least Jareth knew he was  _good_ at this. Besides, after more than a century, he’d grown rather fond of the smelly little sods. They were  _his_ goblins, after all.

Flicking the crystal back out of existence, Jareth went back to his castle, where he could watch the coming contest in comfort.

 

…

 

Sarah slipped away once the bargain had been struck, while Della and Thiel were watching the girl navigate the outer corridor of the Labyrinth. It would be harder on their runner this time, with no Hoggle to help or hinder the first part of her journey. The Outskirts were only for those banished from the realm; the flower fairies and the garden gnomes would likely hide, and would be little to no help to her, even if they allowed themselves to be seen. Due to current squabbles over territory, the fairies were likely to be hostile, even. Not a good way to start a journey, caught up in a biting-fairy clash. She could remember the one she and her allies had bungled their way through years ago. Only Hoggle, who was familiar with their habits, had gotten out of it unscathed.

The memory of Hoggle standing a little ways off laughing at their predicament, mostly because he had warned them better, came back so clearly she herself had to laugh aloud. That made up her mind. She needed to get around the realm fast, and hopefully unseen, so there was only one person who could help her with that.

As it turned out, Hoggle was out by the Bog of Stench, glaring at the little throne set up there – Jareth had had to make good on his threat, and Hoggle was officially the Prince of Stench. Possibly the only dwarf prince in the fae kingdoms. Sarah had learned from Sir Didymus that Hoggle threatened to bog anyone who called him by his title.

Sarah would have cheerfully helped; leave it to Jareth to follow up on a ridiculous threat. “There you are. I was afraid you’d be out on the opposite side of the hedge maze today,” she said with relief, having jogged there. The way seemed suspiciously shorter than she’d expected, but then, Umardelin was probably helping her. Which made her feel better about what she was about to ask. She’d felt it difficult to ask for favors from her friends since she’d been home, but she had to this time. Sarah told herself it was because it wasn’t truly for her own gain, in this case. “Hoggle, I … I need to ask you for something. I need your help.”

“Yeah?” the dwarf said sardonically. “Don’t everybody?”

That hadn’t been the response she had been expecting and she felt the little grit in his tone. It hurt, but she took it. They both knew why she felt bad about this and he had a right to it, she knew. Maybe she had enough courage to talk about it now. It was only fair. “Don’t be like that,” Sarah said, crouching down to be at eye level. “Hoggle, come on. You’ve been one of my best friends for  _years_ . You mean a lot to me, you know that, right?”

“It ain’t you,” Hoggle said. He stared toward the throne, then shook himself. “Jareth says I gotta tend to my realm. Not enough I’m the royal gardener, I gotta come out here and smell this. He’s a big fat jerk, you know that?”

“He is,” Sarah agreed, glaring at the offense, as well. Leave it to him to have been a bugger about his damn little speech, which Didymus had regaled her with after the deed had been done, far out of Hoggle’s hearing. “Thank God he has his redeeming qualities. He went too far with it, mad about ‘treason’ or not. We both know how you feel about this place; only Didymus can handle it for long stretches. At least it’s on the out-reaches and upwind instead of the middle of the Bog itself. I’m pretty sure he’s ass enough to have done the opposite.”

“That’d be about his style,” Hoggle grumbled.

Clearly this was a thorn in his side, and Sarah decided to fix it if she could. “I’ll see what I can do about the Prince of Stench thing. I promise that once I’m crowned, I’ll see how I can change it. He had to make you a prince – he never had to  _keep_ you one. Half of his problem back then was he was jealous.”

The possibility of parole from princedom had lit up Hoggle’s eyes, but he looked curiously at Sarah as she spoke the last. “Jealous?”

“Yeah, because at the time, I couldn’t stand him and I got along with you, even though he’d been setting it up that I would dislike you more. And the kiss on the cheek; I think he’s still annoyed that he couldn’t even get a kiss in the ballroom, as he planned, but I happily gave away a kiss of gratitude to you. Not to mention that you _stayed_ my friend after,” she said, smiling at the memory. “He knew I’d never eat that peach if he brought it to me, so he had to blackmail you. Bastard that he is.” 

Jareth had told her once, long ago, that Hoggle had refused to do anything to harm her; the ballroom dream wasn’t harm, only misdirection. It still surprised her that he’d told her the truth that she’d known and that Hoggle had never been willing to tell her. Not that it would earn Jareth any bonus points right now.

“Him, jealous of me,” Hoggle mused, and laughed. “I’ll remember that.”

“He’s _still_ jealous of the three of you,” she said, chuckling. “I came back for you and Didymus and Ludo, not him.”

“Yeah, but you started coming back for him after a while,” Hoggle scolded.

“Hoggle, I never came back to the Labyrinth when I left; not for anyone. I promise you I wasn’t here. He came after me, in my world. In my dreams, which I ended up lying to myself that I had been doing during our adventures,” she corrected, her expression uneasy then. They were getting to the heart of it now. It hurt to hear aloud; it had been hard to admit to Jareth. It was even harder to say to Hoggle. She owed more to him, Didymus, and Ludo than she had ever owed Jareth. They had been her friends, her family, the only ones that understood her at that very confusing stage in her life.

“And then you stopped running away,” Hoggle retorted. “I don’t wanna hear about why. You’re gonna marry him, so I figure he’s gotta be good at _something_.”

Sarah sighed, giving her old friend a sad smile. “I stopped running from him, and I stopped running to you guys. Which I can’t hate myself completely for, since it gave me back all of you in the end. He was the key to me closing my life here and also coming home. That’s something you can maybe like a little about him. I just wish I could go back and do things differently, even just a little. I was an idiot, Hoggle, and I was thoughtless about our friendship. I owe you and the other two an apology. You three were so important to me; I’m ashamed I walked away like that. I was in such a big damn hurry to grow up, and then when I got there, it wasn’t what I expected.”

Hoggle shrugged. “Never is, though, is it? ‘Less you’re like Jareth’s momma, and the whole world loves you an’ brings you everything you want.”

Sarah had  _had_ everything she wanted, right there, and she’d turned her back on it for ‘reality’. Because she wasn’t brave enough to believe in them. The guilt weighed on her, as things she’d left buried in the back of her mind dredged themselves up like the unquiet dead. The night troll and the fox-knight would forgive, she was sadly sure, but Hoggle was the most like her. He didn’t have many friends, he didn’t let people in, and she’d just  _left_ him. “Still, that doesn’t make it any better,” she murmured, her voice trembling, feeling tears prick her eyes. It hurt so much to confront the coward she had become. Pushing away Umardelin had hurt everyone she cared for here. It was no wonder that her punishment had been to lose part of herself as a consequence. “I’m sorry, Hoggle. I never warned you. Never stopped to think of  _you_ needed  _me_ , too. I feel like I just abandoned you all, which I truthfully did, as much as I hate it.”

He patted her arm. “Thing is, we knew you was gonna grow up and leave us. That’s just nature. Runners can’t come back, normally, and humans can’t believe in us and keep their heads on right.” He chuckled. “That’s what the Fireys used to be, people who got lost in here. Now they  _really_ can’t keep their heads on right. You startled us all when you came back at first – and then when he got you back down here again, well, that makes it right again. Everybody leaves, Sarah, but you came back. We knew you were special, but wow. No one but you ever did  _that_ .”

“But it took me too long and I could have ruined everything,” she whispered, looking him in the eyes despite her shame. 

He snorted. “Yeah, well, that’s Jareth’s fault, I think. Sir Didymus tried to tell ‘im how to court ya, but His Highness threatened to bog him too. Not that the fox’d mind,  _he_ can’t smell it. Don’t beat yerself up, Sarah. Ya didn’t ruin everything. We’re still friends, right?”

Sarah smothered the sob that came to her lips at the phrase, making herself laugh instead. Leave it to Hoggle to put his finger right on it. “Yes. Never even question it. Hoggle, we’ll  _always_ be friends. I’m not gonna lose you guys again,” she replied immediately, and impulsively hugged him. She wished there was a way to fix everything here, now, with this hug, but there was time. And she’d be here. If nothing else in the last few months convinced her, these few minutes on the edge of the Bog did. 

Hoggle yelped, and she let him go, laughing as he fussily smoothed his shirt. “I feel like a jerk, but I really do have a favor to ask. It’s important to me, Hoggle.”

He saw the look in her eye, and leaned back. “Uh-oh. What now? I ain’t poisonin’ Jareth or nothing.”

“No, nothing like that,” Sarah promised, sniffling back her emotion and laughing again. “It’s just … We have a runner. I want to help her, Hoggle, like you helped me.”

His wary look intensified. “Nuh-uh. Sarah, ya can’t. Yer gonna be queen, you can’t go messing around with that. The Labyrinth won’t let you.”

“It let you and the boys help me,” Sarah pointed out, unable to help the old coaxing tone in her voice, tilting her head slightly as she smiled. “Jareth already warned me. I can’t just give her back her son, but I can give her advice. Maybe point out the right directions. I need you, Hoggle. You know the tunnels like nobody else.”

He turned away from her for a moment, but looked back. “Ya know ya can’t stop the runners? No matter what you do?”

“No, I can, and I don’t intend to. This has been going on a lot longer than I’ve been alive. There’s no stopping that. This needs to be a lesson – I know better than most people what happens when parents are careless. I can’t stop it Aboveground, either. But this woman loves her son, and maybe I can help her. Maybe that’s part of why Umardelin chose me.”

Hoggle heaved a sigh. “All right. Come on. But you better remember what you said about getting me un-Princed.”

“Done and done,” Sarah said, straightening up. “Let’s go.”

 


	18. No Use Crying About It

“You just missed Sarah,” Thiel said, arching his brows even higher.

Jareth let his breath out in an aggrieved sigh. “She’s going to muck this up somehow. I just know it.”

“And how well did _your_ first turn as Goblin King go?” Della asked him, with gentle humor.

“Well I didn’t try to give the baby back,” he grumbled. “If I recall correctly, I just watched it happen. I let the kingdom open to the runner, but I didn’t go in person.”

“Win or lose?” Thiel asked.

“He turned back at the endless corridor,” Jareth said, remembering now. It had been very long ago … and he hadn’t cared much, then. Later he took an interest in the runners, going to taunt them personally. By the time Sarah came along, he was quite comfortable in his role as sneering villain.

That the children became goblins was something he’d faced and come to terms with. He couldn’t change it; that was the Labyrinth’s magic, older and stronger than Jareth or even his sorceress grandmother. None had ever shown regret in their new lives, and an outsider wouldn’t be able to tell which of his subjects had been born goblins, and which had become them. And as he’d told Sarah, quite a few of them were better off here than they’d ever been Aboveground. Perhaps he’d have to introduce her to the goblin man who’d once been a little boy living in a dog crate, to give her the proper perspective.

For now, though, he had other matters to consider, and took over the seeing crystal from his mother. Sure enough, Sarah was in the stone maze, approaching the runner. But she wasn’t alone. “Hogbreath,” Jareth growled. “That dwarf never defied me until  _she_ came here. Now he runs around with the troll and the fox-knight and thinks he can do whatever he pleases…”

 

…

 

“This is a bad idea,” Hoggle muttered, but Sarah was striding forward without hesitation, her mind made up. 

“Probably, but the time would come at some point, Hoggle. I have a feeling this was part of Umardelin’s plans.” She knew without looking that she was no longer wearing her riding clothes; the moment she’d climbed out of the tunnel beneath the cobbles, she’d felt Umardelin’s magic cloaking her. Now she wore a dark emerald dress, embroidered black at the hem and neck. Her hair had swept itself up, and she felt the weight of jewels in it as she walked. She would not be Sarah Williams for this, then. The Labyrinth seemed determined to show this runner the Queen of Umardelin. The thought worried her just a bit, remembering her own turns and what her appearance could mean to the Run, but pressed forward. 

Making several quick turns within the brick confines of the endless corridor, distracted by that intrusive feeling again as she came into the maze itself, Sarah almost collided with someone coming around the corner. It was a minor miracle, but she managed to keep her feet and reached out to catch her near-victim. “Oh my God, I’m so sorry,” she apologized, more than a little horrified at the situation. Of course, it would only happen to her; some Goblin Queen she was.

The moment the young woman looked up, her eyes wide and frightened, Sarah knew her for the runner, feeling even worse. Her blonde hair was long and she seemed to be trying to hide behind it, staring at them both. Oh, this was not the way she wanted to begin this. “I’m sorry, I’m an idiot. The last thing I wanted to do was scare you. I know you have enough on your mind right now,” Sarah said soothingly, trying to look unintimidating. The dress wasn’t helping, but she’d deal with it. “I’m here to try to help you get the child back. If you were brave enough to come this far, I want to help you to get further.”

Scoffing, the runner backed away. Sarah could remember that reaction all too well. It would have been her response the first time, had she been a little older and maybe more jaded. She, at least, had been arrogant enough to tell herself that she had an ‘in’. This poor girl, older than she had been when she’d first arrived, had clearly been taken in by whatever pompous speech Jareth had given her. As if to prove it, the girl snapped at her, her gaze wary on Sarah as if she expected harm or tricks. “Why should I trust anything in this damned place? I just want my son back!”

Sarah’s heart ached at that; the girl that stood before her was older than she was when she’d wished Tobe away, but only by a few years. It was far too easy to see the events that could have lead up to this desperate, but mostly unknowing, request. She couldn’t have been out of high school more than a year; her cheeks were still rounded with youth. Too many nights home with the baby, not enough time to see her friends, to feel like the kid she still was… But she had come after him; that was the important part.

That said, the Goblin King had obviously arrived just as he should have, both he and the clock on the hill in the outskirts. And, like Sarah herself, his grand speech had gotten to her already. Not good. If she hadn’t appreciated Hoggle’s attempts to needle her, which had fueled her determination, she did now. This girl hadn’t had that option. 

She cast a grin in memory at Hoggle before turning that warmth on the girl again. “First rule of the Labyrinth: Nothing here is what it seems,” Sarah said, and felt the echo of the land’s pleasure at her words. “I know you don’t trust me, but please, just stop for a moment. Consider what’s happening before you go any further. My name is Sarah, and this is my friend, Hoggle. We know a little better than you’d think what you’re going through.”

The runner looked shocked, her brow furrowing in what looked like disbelief. “Sarah? Like the girl in the book? You  _can’t_ be.”

Now it was Sarah’s turn for shock, frowning at that phrase. The girl in the book? Thinking back to the pages she had so long ago memorized, the girl was never named, at least not when she read it. Somehow she couldn’t remember the details of the heroine, only that she had been a maiden, a princess. Now her own eyes widened. A princess…

Jareth’s voice came back to her now, weeks before, as the revelation came to her.  _Your name, Sarah, means ‘princess’, but it is derived from the ancestral form Sarai._ As a girl, she’d known that, all too proud of the name’s meaning and its importance to her, but she’d never even suspected that the hint had been there all along. For a moment her head swam. The book. Somehow, she had become the princess within the words. She fought the urge to cry, overwhelmed.

Taking a breath and momentarily heedless of their observer, Sarah turned her gaze to Hoggle then, a question in her eyes. After so much time, he had to understand something of how the Book did as it did. All he could do was shrug, holding his hands out, empty of answers. “The book does what it wants. Always has,” he said. “Guess yer in it, now.”

Sarah could only stand there, blinking at the gravity of what she was hearing. Umardelin had claimed her, she had known, but she had never even guessed. The goblins had been right; prophesy-girl, indeed. Even after all she had accepted so far, this truth rocked her. Her eyes were full of questions, emotions, her gaze still on the dwarf. “That’s not how I remember the story, when I read it,” she said plaintively.

“Stories change,” Hoggle told her. “The Labyrinth’s story changed, because of you.”

Taking a breath, shaking her head to clear it, Sarah reminded herself that they weren’t alone here and time was wasting for their current runner as she fretted. Now wasn’t the time to have vapors over mysterious ways. Clearing her expression as she turned back to the runner, she asked with a smile, “I guess the question is, with that in mind, what did the book say about me? And, while we’re at it, tell me your name. I’d rather be able to call you by it.”

“Amelia,” the girl said, still sounding nervous. “The book I read … it said there was a girl who wished her brother away, and she got him back by going through the Labyrinth. Did you really do that?”

_And not a mention of my intended, His Majesty the bird-brain, thank God. It hasn’t quite caught up to current events, so I have that in my favor,_ Sarah thought. Her mind still boggled at the news. She had never imagined that her second run would have that result. Not quite sure what to say now, what to do, her gaze went back to Hoggle, who only shrugged at her again. As usual, he was an incredible help in a situation like this. Briefly, she cast her eyes heavenward, sighing before responding. “Yeah, Amelia, I really did that,” Sarah said, knowing the regret and embarrassment showed in the small smile that crept across her lips. “A long time ago. Stupidly and with no thought at all about the consequences. But my little brother grew up; he’s fifteen now. I grew up, too. And the Labyrinth moved on. But I came back when someone else close to me wished her sister away. I came back and got the little girl out for her.”

“Wow, the real Sarah,” Amelia whispered, looking around them at the before meeting her eyes again. “After everything that happened, I can’t believe you came back _again_.”

Again, a feeling she remembered all too well. Jareth had said that the Labyrinth changed, rearranged itself as fit the mindset of the runner. The basic layout had remained the same for her, and had so far for Amelia, but there was no telling what she could find if she stayed in this state.  _You’re this intimidated and you haven’t even seen the half of it? You need a serious confidence boost, kiddo._ Sarah shrugged, trying for a nonchalance she couldn’t quite make herself feel. After all of the gloom and doom Jareth had likely spread, it was important to not make her megrims worse. “From a certain point of view, it’s a piece of cake, really. You just can’t let the king’s mind games get to you. There’s one thing you have to remember, in the end, and that’s–” The words  _He has no power over you_ instantly popped into her head and died on Sarah’s tongue. That got a frown; she quite literally could not speak them aloud, no matter how she tried. Jareth was right; Umardelin was not willing to part with that particular secret. Clearly, they were only  _her_ right words. 

“What?” the girl asked, coming toward her, curious and confused.

Sarah fought for  _anything_ to un-stick her tongue, frowning with irritation. Nope, the land was having no part in this. So just saying anything too obvious was out. Puzzling out exactly what the Labyrinth would allow took a few minutes, and she finally found her voice with, “No one said you  _have_ to play by the rules. There  _are_ no rules, here, really. And no one’s playing fair.”

Amelia paused, and a slow smile crept over her expression. “You’re right, he never said anything about playing fair. Now, how’s about you tell me how to get past this maze?”

“There are limits on what I can tell you, I’m sure. There are traps and pitfalls here. There are doors everywhere that could lead anywhere. The details are different for everyone, but the majority stays the same,” Sarah warned her, feeling her way through what hints she could give. “But on my last run, I just climbed over most of the obstacles. Just be careful for the ones you can’t. And don’t let him frighten you. Just think about your son and keep going. If you keeping thinking about that, you’ll be fine. Don’t let yourself get overwhelmed by anything you see or hear.” Knowing she was venturing into frightening territory again, she grinned impishly at Amelia, winking. “Now, if you like, I could give you a little help up with the walls…”

Laughing out loud, Amelia began to do exactly that, with a helpful boost from Sarah. Hoggle muttered in the background that it was highly irregular and Jareth was going to have a fit, but Sarah pretended not to hear that part.

Amelia started following the top of the wall, and Sarah grinned. Passing on her own tricks was a pleasure unto itself. And she couldn’t wait to see Jareth’s face when he realized what she’d done. Going over the walls would save the runner  _ hours _ in the stone maze alone.

Sarah turned to Hoggle, planning to follow Amelia and be there to help her with the hedge maze, but realized where the sun was in the sky – and what that meant for time Above. Time between the two realms was linked unpredictably, but Sarah was learning the fine art of guesstimation.  _ Shit, shit, shit, _ Sarah thought.  _ It’s hard to keep your datebook in mind when you’re playing Goblin Queen.  _ “Hoggle, quick, I’ve got to get Above,” she said. “I’m supposed to be meeting Alix for my magic lessons this afternoon.” 

“This way, then,” he told her, and the trip back to the castle through the tunnels was even faster than the way out.

Sarah hurried up to her rooms, and through the mirror back to her apartment. Her cell phone was on the dresser, and she had two missed calls from Toby – and her mom, of all people. No time to listen to them; it was later than she’d thought. Toby had also texted, asking if she was okay, and Sarah paused to send a quick message. Then she looked up the number for Alix’s club, since they hadn’t gotten around to exchanging numbers.

“Imperiale,” a man’s deep voice answered.

“This is Sarah Williams. I need to speak with Alix, please.” She’d unconsciously used her professional social-worker voice, and winced. “I have an appointment with her today.”

“Alix is not available at the moment,” the man said. “May I take a message?”

“Just … please tell her I’m not going to make it,” Sarah said, wondering how much she could said. “I’ve got an unexpected guest to deal with. Give her my number, we’ll set a new time when we she gets back to me.” The man dutifully took down her number, and Sarah sighed. She was still dressed as Umardelin’s queen, and she knew she needed to get back Underground and check in with the runner … but she wanted to check her voicemail. It was rare that her mother called her any time other than Christmas or her birthday. Then again, every _other_ form of chaos was going on right now. Why not add Linda to the mix? _Just what I don’t need,_ Sarah thought. _I love you, Mom, but God._

“Hello Sarah.” Linda’s breathless voice still tried to sound twenty-something, but there were too many cigarettes and too much booze in it. The huskiness of her tone had its own charm, and not for the first time Sarah sighed at her mother’s luck. Anyone else would’ve sounded pathetic. “I just wanted you to know that Louis has a show opening in New York, and I’ll be in the city for a few days. I’d _love_ to spend some time with you. Just us girls, you know? Anyway, give me a ring when you can!”

That was far less drama than Sarah expected, but she still groaned. This was shaping up to be the most eventful week of her life – with a coronation at its end – so of course Linda would have to drop into the middle of it. As if it wasn’t insane enough, with magic lessons, the runner, taking Della shopping, and everything else. She also needed to introduce Jareth to the family soon – and that was probably on Toby’s mind, though he hadn’t said so. Might as well do it before Mom arrived in town, or she’d want to meet him, and Sarah didn’t relish  _that_ thought at all.

Sarah could only stare at her phone, still digesting this new wrinkle in her plans. “Fantastic,” she muttered, and decided to deal with her mother  _later_ . Preferably after a strong drink or two.

Right now, she had a runner to catch up to.

 

…

 

Jareth felt Sarah leave the Labyrinth. He wondered why she chose to leave just then, and after a moment remembered her scheduled meeting with the dryad. Well then, her momentary distraction was his gain. Smirking, he focused his mind and will on the connection between Umardelin and the world Above, letting time spin faster  _here_ than  _there_ . That was heavy magic, but he had the power – and wanted to make sure his next meeting with their runner would be uninterrupted.

This time he garbed himself in the wine-red armored cloak, and swirled into existence as the runner scrambled down from atop the last stone wall. “I see you’ve met Sarah,” he said, smiling. Of course she had, few others had taken the  _maze_ for a  _climbing wall_ .

That brought the girl up short. “Yeah, she’s helping me out,” she sneered. “Sucks for you.”

Jareth let her flounce by, and called to her retreating back, “You think she’s  _helping_ you?” 

It was its own thrill, competing with Sarah this way. Not directly, as they had in her last run, but by proxy. Striving against her had always been a joy, and there was always a little taste of contest in their love. And despite his worry that Sarah would wreck the entire process, so far she hadn’t done so. Her interference was actually helping, even if she’d taught the runner to cheat by climbing the walls.

He had to admit, he liked defiance in a runner – not rage, not terror, but he could see glints of Sarah’s own stubborn pride in this girl’s sarcastic reply to him. And Jareth enjoyed that, though not as he had with Sarah herself. He felt no desire for this girl, but he admired her courage. It was more sporting, to joust against a runner, than to drive a frightened mortal through the maze. Or to let a maddened one charge through it.

She stopped, and turned to look warily at him. Jareth laughed, his best posh-and-disaffected laugh. “You poor silly mortal,” he murmured. “Whatever did she tell you?”

“You’re lying,” the girl said. “Sarah _beat_ you. It’s in the book. She told me she came back and beat you again.”

He strolled forward, grinning cat-like. Whatever the book had changed itself to read, he could spin it in his favor. Jareth already knew it couldn’t be the whole truth – this runner wouldn’t trust the nascent Goblin Queen. “Did she now? I suppose she didn’t happen to mention  _why_ she’s here, did she?”

“To help people like me,” the runner said. Her arms were crossed, and she faced up to him, not as afraid as she’d been at first. 

Jareth chuckled. He knew  _exactly_ how he’d handle this. “Silly girl. Sarah is here for  _me._ I’m the real reason she came back.”

“She came back to save another child,” the girl protested.

“And she choose to remain here, instead of the little girl,” Jareth pointed out. “Not only is Sarah to be crowned as the Goblin Queen, she will be my bride.”

Indecision, fear, and shock flooded across the girl’s face. “You’re a liar.”

“Child, you know enough of fairy-tales to believe in the goblins. You know the fae cannot lie. _Sarah is mine_.” And he let every lascivious nuance drip from his tone like wild honey.

The runner glared at him. “What did you do to make her stay? How’d you trick her?”

Jareth only laughed, though at the bottom of his mind he was staggered yet again by Sarah’s ability to win strangers to her side so swiftly. “No tricks needed. Can you not guess why she chose me?” He let his swagger become a bit more exaggerated. Let her look her fill, from his mesmerizing eyes to his bared chest to his tight breeches. He was a vision to tempt a woman’s desire, and he knew it – had known it when Sarah herself was too young not to be intimidated by that. “I gave Sarah her dreams, little girl. It’s hardly my fault she was dreaming of  _me_ .”

Her face twisted, and she fled from him without another word. “Let’s see you turn  _that_ around, Sarah mine,” Jareth whispered, knowing Sarah would be utterly furious when she heard that he’d spoken of those damned dreams. Luckily for him, she was beautiful in anger. Humming jauntily, he turned into the owl to fly back to the castle.

 


	19. Way Down Below

Back in the castle, the first thing Sarah noticed was how the shadows in the room had changed and lengthened. “Damn him, he sped up time,” she hissed, and hurried out of her rooms to where Hoggle awaited her, shifting from one foot to the other in impatience. They fled back down the stairs, only pausing at the door to the audience chamber, where the little boy was tended by goblins. One of the larger ones gave him a bottle, while four of the small ones held him up to drink. None of the taken children were ever harmed, so it had to be cow’s or goat’s milk.

Della and Thiel were somewhere else, and Sarah felt awful for neglecting their guests, but she had to get back to the runner before Jareth did something else to sabotage her. At least he’d warned his parents, and they understood that the runner had to come first.

Sarah followed the twinge that told her where the runner was – in the hedge maze, now, and close to the forest. Hoggle led her along tunnels and shortcuts, but she found that the kingdom itself opened the way to her. Umardelin  _wanted_ her to do this.

Her entrance this time was a little more dignified. They caught up to the runner just as she entered the forest, the walls looming above them. “Sorry it took so long,” Sarah said, chagrined, as they approached. “The king’s been messing around with time.”

Amelia shied away from her. “Yeah, right. Get lost. I know who you  _really_ are.”

Hoggle groaned and buried his face in his palm; Sarah just looked quizzical. “Of course you know. I’m the girl from the book. Amelia, what happened?”

Her face was full of betrayal, as only naïve youth could muster. “I saw  _him_ . He told me the truth. I should’ve guessed from the dress. You’re not here to help me; you’re gonna marry  _him_ and be the  _Queen_ .”

_Twenty minutes. I was gone twenty minutes. How in the hell can he cause so much chaos in_ _**twenty minutes** _ _?_ Sarah ground her teeth at that thought. It would likely be best to just to acknowledge his interference, but it was impossible not to vent a tad. “That slimy low-down back-stabbing interfering sonofa … no, I like his mom …  _jackass_ .” She looked up at the sky, knowing he was watching via a crystal, and called aloud, “I should’ve known you would spin it in the worst possible light!”

Amelia looked at her with anger and a touch of curiosity, still. Sarah sighed, swearing vengeance for this. True, she should have known better and not ceded her advantage, but leaving Alix waiting could have caused it own issues. Regardless, now she’d have to deal with the fallout. “Okay, look, what he said is technically true. Yes, he and I are … yeah, we ended up together. But, Amelia, that doesn’t have the first thing to do with me helping you. He told you exactly what he wanted to make you dismiss me. It’s easier to get under your skin that way. I remember his little tactics: remember, he used them on me.” The smirk that came to her lips at the memory came too easily. “In all of this, the tattle-tale bastard did neglect to make one thing clear: I am the Underground’s Champion. He was just the free bonus, of  _his own_ choosing. I’m not going to be queen because I agreed to marry him. The truth is that I’m going to be queen because I solved the Labyrinth on one more than one occasion, and chose to stay.”

A warning tingle across her tongue let her know she was approaching the limit of what Umardelin would let her say. All right, then. Boundaries understood.

Sarah took a step forward, holding out her hands. “Look, Amelia, I’m being as honest with you as I possibly can. I’ve already told you that I want you to win. Let me help you. I told you, the surroundings change from runner to runner. There’s things that I can help you anticipate…”

Amelia wavered. “Why would you stay with him, anyway? I mean, yeah, he’s hot. But he’s  _evil_ , he steals children!” At that, Sarah gave her a sympathetic smile and opened her mouth to try to explain a little.  _Oh, it’s a lot more complex than that, little girl._

“Only children that were wished away,” said Jareth’s voice just she was gearing up to try to defend him, and both of them startled to see him lounging along a tree branch above them. He spun a group of three crystals negligently in one hand, grinning down at them both. “It’s hardly theft to take what is offered.”

Her gaze was daggers when she swung around to face him, already feeling the hectic warmth of fury in her cheeks. If there had been anything breakable nearby, she’d be shying it at his huge, gloating head. It was too easy to remember then just how much she had hated him back then, the arrogant fop. At a moment like this, it was too easy to forget the recent past. “You have a point, but you’re still a conceited, gossipy bastard,” Sarah growled at him. “I would say you get points for taking advantage of my absence, but I knew you’d pull something like this. That’s your typical  _modus operandi_ . Some things never change, your majesty.”

“And some things _do_ change, my lady,” Jareth purred, swinging down from his perch with negligent ease. He never even faltered in spinning the crystals. “Such as yourself, and what you wanted from the Labyrinth. Once you only wanted to escape. Now you choose to remain and rule.”

“I rule under _my_ terms, Jareth, which means I can help the runners, if they’re worthy,” Sarah shot back. Amelia’s intensity seemed to mark her as someone who’d immediately regretted wishing her son away, and as a social worker, Sarah had been trained to keep a child with his family if at all possible. She didn’t believe the little boy was in any danger with Amelia; the young woman’s mother-love was intense, and sincere. 

He only scoffed. “Worthy? It is the  _run_ that proves them worthy, or worthless. I have little hope for this one.” Jareth gave Amelia a disdainful look, but Sarah noticed that the girl braced up under it, in anger, rather than wilting.  _Good for you. Never let him win._

Meanwhile he paced closer to her, still smirking. “And as you well know, Sarah mine, I take  _every_ advantage of you. As often as physically possible.”

As much as it set her off to have him attempt to undermine her with implications to their nocturnal enjoyments, Sarah made herself bank it to return his wicked grin. “Words are words are words, Goblin King. Speak all you like; taunting in front of her about what has come to pass between us changes not at all the fact that  _you have no power over me,_ ” she murmured with a piercing look. She knew that he would not enjoy that at all, all too aware that there would be consequences to him. It was petty to use it, truly, but it was looking like someone needed a reminder of just why Umardelin chose her. 

Jareth flinched, but recovered to growl at her. “Ah, but Sarah, you have granted me  _certain powers_ , even as I granted some to you. And whether you like it or not, some of that power is over  _you_ .” He flicked his hand at her, one of the spinning crystals leaping from his grip to expand like a soap-bubble. Sarah saw the opalescent sheen of his power, and instinctively reached for her own magic to defend against it.

Golden met iridescent, and burst into sparkles that littered the ground. “Not quite power enough,” she crowed, baring her own teeth in a grin.

“Oh? I never meant to defeat you, precious,” Jareth laughed. “Now, where is that runner of yours?”

“ _Shit!”_ Sarah snarled. Of course Amelia had run off in the middle of their confrontation. “Hoggle, a little help here?”

“The dwarf took his leave, too,” Jareth informed her. “I wouldn’t be surprised, if I were you. And now, to get back to the castle and watch that runner…”

That had her glaring hatefully at him, knowing she needed to catch up with Amelia, but warning him off, nonetheless. “You can watch, but you’ll leave her be,“ she retorted. “I mean it, Jareth. We don’t know what’s already waiting for her. Don’t make me fight you. I’ve beat you on this before; you know that.”

“Sarah, Sarah,” he sighed, shaking his head. “I will _do my job_ as King of Umardelin. That, you cannot change.” And then he turned himself into the owl, flying back to the castle.

Sarah sent curses in his wake, and stamped her way to the nearest tunnel.

 

…

 

Jareth landed in good humor at the castle, heading to the audience chamber to look over the child. Much to his surprise, he found his mother seated on the hay-strewn floor, the babe in her lap … and a throng of goblins around her. The little boy was tugging at Della’s long golden hair and cooing happily. “Welcome back, son,” Della chuckled. “You were conspicuously absent when this one needed changing, I notice.”

“Some duties are best left to the goblins,” he said, then added, “You’ll ruin that dress, and Father will moan about it for weeks.”

“Tch. As if I haven’t magic enough to clean and repair it before he even sees it,” she said easily. “How goes the runner?”

“That’s precisely what I’ve come to see,” he replied, stepping down into the central pit. It was easier, there, to summon a large seeing crystal, and all the goblins clustered around him as he watched.

The girl was in the forest, hopelessly lost. Good … for a given value of good. Jareth glanced again at the boy. He was bright-eyed, round and rosy-cheeked, despite the fact that his mother was not too much past the age Sarah had been when he first met her. Once it was common for women to become mothers that young, but in recent decades ‘teen pregnancy’ was spoken of with shame and concern.

Still, the boy was clearly happy and healthy, which spoke well of the young woman’s maternal instincts. Or perhaps those of her own mother, who knew? The child was loved, and would be missed if the runner failed.

Jareth could only sigh. She had the hubris to wish her child away, she must win him back. And his own role had always been clear: antagonist, adversary,  _villain_ . Even when he only appeared to offer the deal, they immediately knew him for their foe. Sarah seemed to be carving out her own role in opposition, and Umardelin was letting her. 

As if his thought summoned her, one of the heavy flagstones grated aside and Sarah climbed into the room, dusting herself off. “I never thought I’d say this, but you need to send the cleaners through more often,” she grumbled, swiping cobwebs off her shoulders. “Also: you’re an ass.”

He’d had about enough of that, and Jareth glared at her with opalescence in his eyes. “I am a  _King_ ,” he retorted, and the words echoed in the room, making poor Mathilda flap her wings in consternation. “I do what is needful in my realm, Sarai.”

Her chin had gone up at his assertion. “And the Labyrinth decided that  _I’m Queen_ , Jareth,” she shot back, striding toward him. “This one deserves to get her son back. Look at him, look at her – I know what abuse and neglect look like, and this isn’t it! So get the hell out of my way, or so help me, I’ll…”

Unfortunately, from the moment she pronounced herself queen, Sarah had fairly glowed with righteous determination – and golden power. Jareth could only respond one way to her eternal defiance, his own anger boiling hot at her obstructions.

He seized the front of her gown, yanked her close, and kissed her, hard.

Sarah’s furious words died against his mouth, before resurfacing in a growl as she bit his lip. He tangled his free hand in her raven hair, savoring the hot live tension of her, feeling her resistance and her desire wound around each other. Only with Sarah was it ever like this. Any other woman who tried to defy him – Lyselle in particular – only seemed petulant and petty. Only Sarah burned this fiercely, until he didn’t mind being singed so long as he could warm himself at her flame.

She tugged herself free of him, punched him hard on the shoulder, and then kissed him again. Jareth laughed against her mouth, gladly, and Sarah shoved him away. “Dammit, you, fighting is not foreplay!”

“Actually, based on the evidence…” Della said, letting the sentence trail away, and reminding them both she was there.

Jareth groaned. “Mother, must you? In Sarah’s realm they have a word for your consistently ill-timed interruptions.”

“Shut it,” Sarah muttered, elbowing him. She knew exactly what he had in mind. “Sorry, Della.”

The fae queen rose, and the bits of hay and thankfully-unidentified dirt fell from her dress as she did. “Passion is rarely unwelcome in a relationship, as I well know. You amuse me, children.” Her eyes sparkled with mirth, making it an in-joke and not lofty disdain.

Sarah held out her hands for the boy, and Della gave him over gently. Jareth watched as she looked the child over, noting the same things he had: clear evidence of good, loving care. It did surprise him how she cooed under her breath to soothe the little boy, and how her bold features softened into a gentle smile.  _She is good with children,_ he thought, and then shook his head. In her line of work, Sarah had to be. The girl who’d been so frustrated with her brother had grown into a deep tenderness.

And no wonder she was protective of the goblins. She saw them all as children, and did not realize most of them were adults now. It was rather difficult to tell, given the variety of their sizes and forms – Jareth himself still did not always know at first whether they were male or female.

Sarah looked up at him now, her eyes glinting fierce. “See?  _She loves him_ . Someone takes damn good care of him. We’re not keeping this one.”

Jareth scrubbed a hand over his face, sighing in frustration. “Sarah.  _I want her to win_ . And not merely to silence your sharp-edged tongue.”

For a moment she could only blink, as Della beside them smirked and crossed her arms, watching with interest. Jareth took advantage of her bemusement to continue.

“I was being quite literal. I am _doing my job_. What yours will be, is between you and Umardelin. _My_ role is adversary. I am the opposition against which the runners struggle; I am the Labyrinth’s test personified. It is what they and Umardelin expect.”

Sarah cocked her head at him. “Didn’t you tell me, all through my last run, how you weren’t my enemy, weren’t the villain, weren’t the bad guy? Over and over again?”

“Point to her,” Della put in.

“Mother, hush,” Jareth grumbled. “That was true, Sarah. In your case, all my efforts only made you more determined to succeed. There is a difference between evil and opposition.”

Her eyebrow went up, and he scoffed at her. Time for a little more truth, bitter thought it would be. “Sarah, you know damned well that I am not evil. I shall take you round the goblin city and introduce you to Idirus, who is still spotted from the burns his mother and stepfather gave him with cigarettes. Or Zipar and Lirik, who are still spindly from being starved near to death. Or Lotacem, who lived all her life in a closet – except when her parents wished to sell her to perverts.”

He saw her face go stony, and she held the little boy just a little tighter. There was hellfire in those green eyes of hers, and Jareth distantly thought the next such runner would find the Queen more frightening than the King, if they were foolish enough to pursue. More softly, Jareth continued, “The words need not always be precisely the same. If the child yearns to go somewhere, anywhere, else, and the parent or caretaker wishes they’d never been born, or never laid eyes on them, or simply wishes them gone … the goblins can intervene. And in those cases, the Labyrinth and I are not the  _piece of cake_ you experienced. Those skeletons in the oubliette are not mere props, Sarah.”

He saw her throat work as she realized just what he meant – that he had killed, and considered it righteous, and neither apologized for it nor regretted it. Lotacem in particular, he’d listened to her mother scream for days, and never felt a drop of pity. It was a fitting punishment, though the oubliette was larger than the closet where she’d confined her child.

To the fae, who could not have children as easily or as often as they wished, such abuse was an abomination. And in Sarah’s queasy expression, Jareth saw that she understood his wrath and vengeance completely – even as she herself was constrained in daily life by the rule of law. “What will you do if the runner is no fit guardian, Sarai?” he asked softly.

“Then I’ll react accordingly,” Sarah replied softly, cuddling the little boy closer. She’d been looking down as his soft innocent face as Jareth spoke, and with her words she met her king’s gaze. “If they’re shit-heels, well, they’ll be dealt with. But if they’re worthy … I got help. So should they.”

He shrugged. “Did I ever say you could not aid them? No. Umardelin itself will stop you from going  _too_ far, but you may be guide and ally as your friends were to you. I will not ask you to do otherwise. But I  _will_ oppose you, Sarah. I must. It is my duty.”

Sarah gave a wan little smile, and a quiet chuckle. “I’d expect nothing less. You  _are_ an ass, anyway.”

“Not quite as magnificent an ass as yours,” Jareth replied, smirking.

That did get an honest laugh from her. “I love you,” Sarah said, and made the words acceptance of his role and forgiveness for transgressions against her own moral code – which he did not share.

“I’m so glad you’ve settled that,” Della said. 

They’d both been so intent on each other that they’d forgotten, again, that she was observing them. Jareth and Sarah both looked around, blinking owlishly at her.

Della clapped her hands briskly. “Well. If your runner is lost in the forest, and you’ve both stopped sniping at one another, perhaps you can spare an hour or two for fittings? Sarah, you have a coronation gown. And son, you  _do_ have a new suit of clothes yourself.”

That startled more animation into Sarah, and she looked at Jareth sidelong. “Sure, if you’ll keep an eye on his majesty for me. Just because it’s his job doesn’t mean I’m going to let him get away with stealing a march on me.”

“Fine,” Jareth said, with an exaggerated bow. “I will accept supervision to prevent further interference, but only if you do so as well. Mother, find Father for me and ask him to keep watch?”

Sarah scoffed. “So you’re sending the man with me to a dress fitting? Great.”

Della chuckled. “You chose me to supervise Jareth, likely because I can outfly him,” she pointed out. “That leaves Thiel to watch over you. I assure you, he’s no more interested in your underclothes than I am.”

From the doorway came Thiel’s voice. “I heard my name, but you seem to be discussing clothes, so surely you aren’t seeking me.”

“Poor man,” Della chuckled.

 


	20. Fittings

Jareth grumbled under his breath as the tailors measured him again, and held fabrics up to him, and carried on technical discussions about seams and darts and cuts of clothing. Much as he loved finery, his interest was aesthetic, and he had little curiosity about the minutiae of clothes-making.

Della had seated herself on a nearby table, swinging her feet idly as she kept watch over her son. “So that is the little fifteen-year-old who beat you so soundly,” she mused. “I confess I’m quite impressed with her spirit.”

He’d scoffed at that description of Sarah, but preened a little when Della referred to her as spirited. “She  _is_ spirited. Also determined, and brave, and somehow she manages to keep a heart that can soar with wonder despite the city she lives in and the career she chose.”

“And she gave you a quite a thrashing, if memory serves” Della replied, circling that point stubbornly. “Tell me, son, how much of your desire for her is simply wanting to claim victory in whatever way you can?”

Jareth scowled fiercely at her, but not even he could look imposing with a seamstress measuring his inseam and muttering through a mouthful of pins. Della only shook her head at him. “I love you, Jareth,” she told him. “I see you with the eyes of a mother who adores her only child, but I am not entirely blind. You are a man, and a king. Conquest is  _always_ in the minds of such. So answer my question.”

Grudgingly, he muttered, “Perhaps … a twentieth of it. If I wanted only to rule Sarah, to repay her for sacking my city, I would’ve counted her dreams as my triumph.”

“Her dreams?” Della arched a brow.

“Sarah returned to the Labyrinth in her dreams,” he reminded her. He had complained to his mother in years past, about the obstreperous runner who won and then _wouldn’t stay gone,_ but he’d never spoken about the other dreams. And for Sarah’s sense of modesty, he wouldn’t go into detail. “For some time I was vexed, that she was able to return at all, and then that she was able to avoid me. But eventually it was _me_ she dreamed of. Her run cast me as the villain, and also the seducer. It was in that role that she eventually dreamed herself back into my arms.”

“And your bed, I’ve no doubt,” Della said dryly.

“By her choice, and her initiation,” Jareth pointed out, unable to keep the barest smirk at bay. “After an initial indoctrination, she found mortal boys rather unimpressive.”

Della sighed and rolled her eyes. “The charm of boys is their naivete. It is no bad thing to be worshiped, after all. When a woman seeks skill, she looks to  _men_ . Which you are considerably older and more experienced than she, even now.”

“She holds her own in the game of love, most especially now,” Jareth replied. “I do not want a starry-eyed girl to swoon over me, Mother. I’ve experienced that far too often, on either side of things. I want a woman of courage and fortitude – _that_ woman. Sarah is magnificent.”

“Why? Why her, son? It seems to me that half your relationship consists of bickering.” Della didn’t sound accusatory, just curious, but he bridled anyway.

“I wonder whose example I follow in that,” Jareth growled. “We bicker because we have differing opinions, and honor each other enough to voice them. I _enjoy_ jousting with her. Most of my interest in the current runner is being able to play against Sarah without her being the one in danger.”

Della was quiet for a long moment, while the servants did their work. Neither she nor Jareth worried about having such discussions in front of them – all their lives they had been surrounded by servants. It was expected that they would keep silent about what they overheard, for gossips could be bogged or exiled. Or, in less gentle realms, executed.

The seamstress was marking marks in chalk on the half-finished coat, deciding precisely how it should drape, when Della spoke again. “I must tell you … such a combative sort of love is not always easy. Your father and I are not quite as much at war as you and Sarah seem to be; we were not so, even in our early years. We bicker playfully, for mutual amusement. Neither of us enjoys conflict quite as much as you do.”

“Sarah and I are not always this quarrelsome,” Jareth said. “There were many years of dreams in which we got along quite well – and not all of those dreams took place in bed. We treated each other as equals, and still do. She will fight me when she thinks I am wrong, and I respect that about her. Sometimes she must be convinced. Sometimes I must be. Sometimes she can be a pigheaded idealistic young fool – but then, so can I, even though I am supposed to be older and wiser.”

“That you can, my boy,” Della laughed.

“We are sorting out issues as they arise, but we both enjoy the process. And we’ll continue sorting. We have loved each for nearly fifteen years, Mother. I will not relinquish her now because she does not bend to my will. Hell, if she _did_ yield easily, that might be the only reason I would abandon her!”

“You never did like to do things the simple way,” Della sighed. 

“If I wanted easy and simple, I would’ve fallen in love with Lyselle,” Jareth muttered.

Della sneered. “ Lyselle of Galeraessian?  _Her?_ Son, I thought you had rather better taste than that. She was bedding your lover Urylas, wasn’t she?”

“As it turned out, yes,” Jareth replied. “She fancies herself his one true love. That Urylas had no interest in true or lasting love, she’s never believed. In any case, we served each other well. I tried to use her to break the curse, and to forget Sarah. She admitted she was only using me to get a throne.”

Della tossed her hair over her shoulder, scowling. “Galeraessian is an ambitious kingdom. Her parents toady to the High King every chance they get, and unfortunately they think the best way to advance their cause is to attempt to drag down everyone else. Any bit of court gossip that reaches their ears is forwarded where it can do the most harm. I cannot fault them for spoiling their daughter, not when I spoilt you, but at least you have  _some_ couth.” 

Jareth scoffed; she surely damned him with faint praise, but then a calculating light shone in Della’s gaze. “Jareth, I must have misheard you. You bedded her  _twice_ ? Gods, all men are fools. At what point did you realize there’s nothing of substance in that pretty head?”

“Mother. She was convenient.” Jareth glared, and she only arched a brow. “Besides which, there is some calculation in her. She did mean to take my throne.”

“Lyselle would not last a month here,” Della said flatly. “She would be goblin-fodder. Not that you have the best sense of tact, but she would manage to botch the job royally. Wait – Lyselle was at the Champion’s Ball, wasn’t she? Why do I suddenly believe that she was the reason why you and Sarah both briefly quit the floor?”

He sighed. “So that’s gotten into the rumor mill, has it? Yes, she was. I think Lyselle was using means both mundane and magical to cast doubt in Sarah’s mind. We’ve discussed the issue, and Sarah knows she has  _no_ competition from that quarter.”

“There will be no such foolishness at her coronation,” Della said sternly. “If Sarah is the one you want, forever, then you’d damned well better convince her of it before that crown touches her head. And speaking of forever – does Sarah know?” She tilted her head, birdlike, to ask that.

Another sigh at that, Jareth looking away. “Not yet. There is so much to tell her, Mother. I suspect she knows in her marrow, as Umardelin gives her that much. But we have not addressed it.”

“You’d best,” Della warned. “Truly, you had best. Sooner, rather than late. This is why I question you, son. It is no small commitment that you both make. And it has consequences for those you love and who love you, as well.”

His look to her was pained. “I know … but Mother, I love her. What else can I do?”

“Only love her, as you already do, and to the best of your ability,” Della sighed. “I know that true love will not be denied. Enough, my son. Let us talk of less consequential things … such as the menu for her coronation. _Have_ you told Sarah about the eel pie course?”

 

…

 

Thiel had been pressed into service as guard, and looked utterly miserable as he slumped into a chair in the fitting room. “Someone bring me a cup of wine,” he said to the servants. “I’ll need it to survive this. By the gods, I  _loathe_ costuming.”

Sarah was about to make a comment to him, but felt a sudden weight thwack against her shoulder.  “You forgots me!” Neesk complained.

“I did not, I was just letting you sleep,” she soothed, and reached to pet him.  Neesk nipped her hand, and she yelped, but didn’t swat him.  It was impossible to be angry at a half-pound goblin pouting on her shoulder.  “I’m sorry, Neesk.  I promise, I didn’t forget you.”

“Don’ts forgets me,” he muttered, but he let her pet him that time, and seemed to settle.

“Right,” said the tailor, approaching Sarah with measuring tape in hand. “Off with this, milady. Can’t measure through gowns.” And so saying, he reached for the nape of her neck, where the dress was buttoned.

“Whoa,” Sarah yipped, shying back. “A moment, please. Excuse me, my future father-in-law does not need to see my underwear! Thiel, turn around first.”

He rolled his eyes with a heavy sigh. “One, I’ve been charged with watching you. Two, unless humans have changed a great deal over the centuries, you’ve nothing under that gown I’ve never seen before. Three, you  _have_ met my wife. Lovely as you are, Sarah – and my son is indeed a lucky man – none compares to Cadelinyth.”

“And four, you’re still not seeing me next to naked, father-in-law. Turn around or I’ll blindfold you,” she said stubbornly.

He shrugged, chuckled, and turned the chair around. “As you wish. Far be it from me to offend a lady.”

Somehow it was different with the servants, probably because the tailor was clearly only interested in her measurements, and was muttering about color and fabric under his breath. Neesk climbed to the top of her head, clinging to her hair, and she figured with resignation that he couldn't get much of a view from there.  Sarah had been fitted for costumes before, and knew to hold absolutely still, so as to avoid being jabbed with a pin or two.

Thiel had gotten his wine, and was sipping it slowly. “Sarah, if you insist that I not look at you, you’ll have to speak,” he said. “Otherwise I am not fulfilling my charge of making certain you’re not sneaking off to intercept the runner.”

Sarah sighed. “Fine. Um … Umardelin has the Labyrinth. What’s Etaron’s claim to fame?”

“Little enough of fame,” he admitted reluctantly. “Etaron is an old land, carved out of the wilds by an ancestor of mine. This was long ago, when humans were only just learning to make weapons of copper. The founder of the land was a minor noble in the High King’s court, and neither he nor his descendants took sides in the various wars of succession. Perhaps the most notable thing about Etaron is that we have several connections to your world. There is a rath – a ring-fort – which links Etaron directly to Eire, as well as several trees that stand in both realms.”

“Wow,” Sarah said, thinking of all that ancient age. “Is Umardelin that old?”

“Older,” Thiel replied. “Well, Umardelin as a kingdom is not quite so old as Etaron. The current High King’s father fixed its boundaries and installed a king of his choosing, calling it Umardelin, sometime around the dawn of the Iron Age. The Labyrinth itself is truly ancient. I believe it once had a bull living in the center.”

“Really?” Sarah gulped, knowing her Greek mythology. They were talking about really, really _old_ history, and the Greeks were actually the most recent of it. And Jareth meant to see her crowned queen of this. 

Then Thiel turned her mind from it all by casually saying, “I admit, for such a realm, I’m surprised that Umardelin chose a human – a modern human, at that – for its queen.”

She took a deep breath. It was a conservation she had know was coming; she was just loathe that it had to be addressed now. “Okay, so it’s probably best to just get this out in the open,” she began, and he cocked his head to show he was giving her his full attention. “What’s your problem with humans, King Deruthiel?”

“I don’t have a problem with humans,” he protested. “Some of my finest warriors are human.”

He must’ve been shocked by her laughter, for Thiel forgot himself and turned around. Luckily Sarah was currently draped in fabric. “You don’t even realize how that sounds, do you?” she replied, still chuckling.

“I beg your pardon?” he asked, with such a comical look of confusion that she broke into fresh laughter.

Once Sarah got control of herself, she decided to just lay everything out for him. “All right. Let me explain. So in humans, in America especially, we have a big problem with racism. Partly it’s historical, partly it’s cultural, partly it’s socioeconomic, and it’s  _way_ more complicated that this, but it boils down to people thinking that lighter skin is better than dark skin. That white people are smarter, more civilized, more moral, while black people are lazy, stupid, and usually criminals.”

“That is the most ridiculous thing I’ve ever heard,” Thiel said flatly.

“Yeah, I know,” she sighed. “But. When it’s just one guy saying that black people are useless, he’s prejudiced. When he’s a landlord and he refuses to rent to black people, he’s discriminating against them. But when across the entire country, black people make less money than whites for the same jobs, and when they get longer prison sentences for lesser crimes, that’s racism. It’s not just one person, it’s a whole _system_ devoted to keeping down the ‘lesser race’. Mostly so the ‘superior race’ can go on enjoying privileges they never earned, and never have to think about how much they rely on the ‘lower races’ to do all their manual labor. I mean, we used to have outright slavery.”

Thiel shook his head. “Disgusting. And this is relevant to me how?”

“Substitute ‘human’ for ‘black’. Or low fae and high fae,” she replied, already wincing a little. _Fearless Sarah, Defender of Right and Wrong, rides again. Now to just stay in the damn saddle._ Again, she had meant to bring up this topic, but not this soon. But now that it was out, it was best to just go forward. 

To his credit, Thiel sat in silence and thought about it. When he at last spoke, it was in chastened tones. “It does not escape me that everyone from the kitchen staff, to the maids, to the tailors presently working on your gown, are either human or low fae. This is as true in my kingdom as in yours. I have no illusions about that. The high fae alone could not successfully run a kingdom. Not only do we lack some of the smaller magics that make daily life possible, the sheer amount of infighting among us would be disastrous.”

“Smaller magics?” Sarah said gently. “I understand that dryads are low fae, but they have healing and fertility magic. How is that considered small magic? Sure, Jareth’s glitterstorms are impressive, but I’d think fertility would be more important.”

“True,” Thiel replied.

“It’s even in the language,” Sarah said. “Why on earth are you called high and low fae? It’s systemic discrimination. And Thiel, one of the things about racism in humans is that when you call someone a racist, the first thing they say is, ‘I can’t be racist, some of my best friends are black!’ But if you ask them, you’ll find out that what they _really_ think is that their black friends aren’t like most black people. They think they’re almost like white people.”

“I see,” he said, even more quietly.

“So, are your human soldiers almost as good as fae?” Sarah asked, and flinched as the tailor poked her with a needle. She wasn’t sure if it was purposeful or not; this couldn’t be a comfortable conversation for the silent majority of servants in the room.

“No,” Thiel said, rather sharply. “They are _better_ than fae. Humans often make better warriors. Your lives are shorter and your hearts burn hotter. But I see your point.”

“How many times have the low fae revolted against high fae rule?” Sarah asked, and Thiel nearly fell off his chair.

“Who told you there were rebellions?” he snapped.

“Well, Jareth told me his predecessor got eaten by goblins,” she shot back. “But other than that, no one _needed_ to. I just have a degree in psychology, the workings of the mind, and a working knowledge of history, Deruthiel. I know what happens when people are oppressed. Sooner or later, heads roll and regimes topple.”

He stood up to pace then, and Sarah squeaked as the tailor whipped away the marked fabric, leaving her in bra and underwear. Thiel wasn’t paying any attention to her, however. When he finally glanced her way, he respectfully averted his eyes. “Yes, there were revolts. Most of them were probably justified. There have always been fools who think it necessary to rule by fear and cruelty. I do not  _oppress_ my people, Sarah, and I resent the implication that I do.”

“There are good kings in the world, there always are, and I never said you oppress them,” she quickly replied. The tailor handed her a cloak, which she draped over herself while quick adjustments were made to the fabric he’d marked. “But fae culture itself oppresses them, and that’s not right.”

Thiel looked at her very seriously. “I’d be careful where you say that. The High King would not appreciate it. And I do not wish to see my son take his realm to war over you.”

“Okay, point. I’m one human against thousands of years of fae history. But in _my_ kingdom, no one talks shit about my people. Human, fae, goblin, hybrid, I don’t care. They’re mine and they _will_ be respected. Just the same way you respect me enough to _listen_ when I call you out on your prejudice.”

“Yes, well, I imagine most people find it very hard to disrespect you, Sarah Williams,” Thiel replied with heavy irony. “I take your meaning quite well.”

“Another thing,” she continued. “I understand this stuff. You’re not a bad man, King Deruthiel. I’ll bet half your problem with the goblins is that the pure-blooded fae give you grief about your father being human. And you love your father, don’t you? _You_ don’t think he’s a lesser creature, and your mother didn’t either, or she wouldn’t have had you by him. So when, say, Iswyniel calls you a half-breed, you take it out on the low fae. Yeah, you’re only half fae, but that half is _high_ fae from an ancient kingdom. So keep the vermin in their place, because at least they’re lower than you. Am I right?” When she finished, Sarah fought the urge to wince again. There was such a thing as too much honesty; what had made her mention the ‘half-breed’ thing? He’d muttered it to her during the song, and she’d heard the bitterness in his voice even despite the liquor. Sarah couldn’t help hoping it wouldn’t make him stop listening.

Thiel, for his part, had gone very still, staring intently at her, and Sarah abruptly realized that Thiel’s hands were clenched into fists. His eyes were black as ink, and she felt as if a storm was approaching. According to the story, Thiel didn’t have much magic … but did that matter, against an untrained human? Not to mention, his father was a Celtic warrior, and he  _was_ armed, a dagger at his belt. Neesk stood tall at the top of her head, growling ferociously, and all the servants froze. 

She gave Thiel the consideration of softening her voice, but did not back down. Would not. Could not, and be true to her own nature. “And Jareth gets his temper from you.”

Thiel let out a breath, and shook himself with a sigh. The thundery feeling in the air vanished. “Jareth gets his  _control_ of his temper from me,” he replied, his voice rough. “Note that I said nothing, made no threat. And you, Sarah, get your courage from the gods themselves, because you call out before witnesses what my own wife would not say to me in private, and you do it unarmed and nearly undressed. I commend you.”

She shrugged. “Thiel, I want to know you. I want to  _understand_ you. I love your son, and I want to love you. But I have big damn issues with anyone treating me like Jareth’s little human pet. To be completely blunt, I’ve come too far and worked too hard to put up with that shit. Better that we get it settled now.”

“I think you understand me rather too well at the moment,” he told her. “Still. You have a point. And you are no man’s pet. I recognized _that_ at our first meeting, even drunk.”

“You are more than what they call you,” she told him, as she’d told dozens of children in her career. “You are worth more than that. I don’t give a flying _fuck_ what the rest of the fae think of me, or say behind my back. I’m human, I’ll deal. But they _will_ respect me to my face. And so help me, they’ll respect you, too. You are the King of Etaron, your son is King of Umardelin, and for all their high pure blood I don’t see any of _them_ over here taking on the Labyrinth. They don’t have the courage you or Jareth do.

“The thing is, Thiel, people who are prejudiced based on something like race or species? They do it because they’re afraid. They’re afraid that _they’re_ not good enough, so they put that off on someone else, make themselves feel better by making other people feel worse. I’ve got zero respect for that nonsense. Live by your own integrity and your own actions, and judge yourself only by your own standards.”

He shook his head slowly. “If this is how you carry yourself as Champion, I shudder to think what a power you will be once crowned. Promise me, Sarah, you will not start a war against the High King.”

“No, no worries there. I think Jareth’s little experience was enough for all of us. After what I’ve read and heard, just _thinking_ about him scares the crap out of me,” she replied instantly.

Thiel managed a chuckle at that. “As you should be frightened. And if you consider me properly chastened, I’ll have a glass of something stronger than wine.” Though when a page stepped forward to take his empty glass, Thiel  _did_ tell the boy, “Thank you.”

As far as Sarah – child of liberal, diverse, democratic New York – was concerned, that was a major win.

 

…

 

When they met back up in the audience chamber, Della kissed Thiel’s cheek. “I see you survived, love. Did she manage to keep you awake?”

He laughed, and embraced her. “You have no idea. I hope our son enjoys conflict – that one knows how to hold her own in a debate. And she has little inclination to bow before tradition.”

She raised an eyebrow at that, probably guessing the topic of their conversation. “Well then. Fortunately, according to Jareth, her stubborn nature is one of her chief attractions.”

“Good. I wish him joy of it,” Thiel replied.

They moved apart, and she linked her arm through his to head over to where Jareth had summoned up a seeing-crystal. “About tradition … she  _does_ know she must yield to the High King?”

“Him, she’s afraid of,” he replied.

“Wisely,” Della said, with relief.

 


	21. A Most Different Seeming

Toby frowned at his phone. Sarah  _never_ gave him the brush-off. But she’d only replied to his text with,  _Super busy. Unexpected guest at bf’s place. You know what I mean. Will call later._

None of that was like her. If he called, she usually answered, and when she was with a client, she called back as soon as possible. Not for the first time, he wondered what the Goblin King was getting her into.

He’d mostly processed the fact that his nutty sister (in their own minds, they were never half-siblings) was dating the fairy king who once kidnapped him. Weirdly, compared to some of her boyfriends, Jareth seemed like a pretty good option. Barton wasn’t the only sucktacular one she’d brought home; Toby remembered the one guy who called him ‘champ’ all the time and kept badgering Dad to let him take him hunting. About the time he brought out the argument that boys needed vigorous outdoor exercise to keep them from turning out queer, Sarah had broken in to inform him she was getting closer to gay with every word, and kicked him out of the house before Karen plated the spaghetti.

Sarah had a very keen sense of justice, Toby figured. She always defended him from school bullies, she made a career out of protecting kids, and in everyday life, she was that person who would snap back at some idiot cursing out a cashier. Sarah always took the underdog’s side, and she was brilliant at making the bully look foolish.

Knowing that, a  _king_ didn’t seem like the obvious choice for her. But apparently Jareth had gone through hell of his own. And the stories she’d told about the Labyrinth  _did_ sound amazing. A whole fantastical world of her own … people who only knew Sarah the Very Serious Social Worker wouldn’t have understood, but Toby could see where that was a big bonus, too.

What a mind trip. His awesome yet admittedly kinda weird sister had been sneaking off there, actually visiting a fairy kingdom and apparently shacking up with its king, for  _years_ . Without him or their parents ever having a clue. When had she found the time? Her life was nuts! 

And how long, exactly, had this been going on? Had she told him scary stories about the place, then slipped off there to jump Jareth’s bones? Gross to think, but it was possible.

Karen knocked on his door, and Toby called to her to come in. She brought in his laundry and set it on his bed – it was already folded, but he had to put it away and bring back the hamper, which was lame, but he didn’t want to hear another lecture on taking responsibility for himself. He just sighed at the sight of the laundry.

“What’s the matter?” Karen asked, tousling his hair affectionately. Toby pulled away with a frown, but he actually didn’t mind. At least his mom loved him and took every chance to show it.

He shrugged one shoulder. “I was trying to get hold of Sarah, but she’s busy.”

“Sarah has a very important job, Toby,” Karen said, and he could _hear_ the lecture-gears winding up. “She loves you very much, but she can’t always jump to her phone. She always calls back, though. You know that.”

Before she could tell him how grateful he should be for his relationship with her, Toby tried to play it off. He gave another casual shrug. “It’s no big deal,” he told his mom. “I mean, with her new boyfriend and everything, I don’t expect her to wait by the phone for me to call or anything. I just wish we lived closer, so I could go visit her more often.” The bus trip wasn’t that bad, but Karen still worried a little about him going into the Big City, capital letters very much included every time she spoke.

Unfortunately, he’d been a little  _too_ successful at deflecting his mother from lecture-mode. “New boyfriend?” Karen asked, sounding as falsely casual as Toby had a moment ago.

“Yeah, he dropped by the last time I was up,” Toby said, kicking himself inwardly. _She’s gonna slaughter me when she finds out I told Mom,_ he thought glumly.

“What’s he like?” Karen asked, fussing with his shirts as if they needed to be refolded.

Toby tried to do damage control as best he could. “Eh, okay. Some British guy. This one might actually last, unlike Barfton.”

“Name-calling is for kindergarteners,” Karen said absently. She left when it was clear that Toby wouldn’t give out any more info, and he just _knew_ she was telling Dad an exaggerated version of it.

 

…

 

Sarah stood at Jareth’s side as he summoned the seeing-crystal. The goblins surrounded them, and the baby slept contentedly amidst them, his thumb in his mouth. Seeing him reminded Sarah again of Toby.

Jareth concentrated, moving his hands deliberately, and the crystal sprang into being like a soap-bubble, its contours shifting. Then it solidified, the interior cloudy at first. “You’ve got to teach me that,” Sarah muttered.

“I will. Later. Haven’t you enough to occupy your time, love?” he asked, grinning.

“Shush. My life is crazy and you know it. Where is she?”

“Still in the forest,” Jareth remarked, and the crystal cleared. Amelia, the runner, was somewhere near the junkyard, but she’d been cornered by the Fireys. Sarah scowled; of all the Labyrinth’s creatures, only they had ever scared her. And now they were taking obvious delight in playing with their new prey. Amelia had grabbed a fallen branch and was swinging it at them, but they simply fell apart and reformed to attack again. No sound came through the crystal, and Sarah could imagine their laughter. Neesk, still riding in her hair and showing no signs of ever leaving, chattered his teeth in anger or excitement.

“Dammit, they’re going to hurt her,” she snapped, glaring at Jareth. “I’m getting down there, like it or not.”

“Go,” he told her, and with a wave of his hand opened a shimmery portal to the forest. Sarah paused for half a second, wondering why he was helping, but then decided she didn’t care. She bolted through, Neesk’s claws gripping her scalp.

And immediately found herself surrounded by Fireys. When she’d ridden through on the tour earlier, they’d shown no aggression, but now they came toward her, feathers ruffling with interest. Her teenage memories weren’t quite accurate, Sarah now saw. These weren’t just deranged man-sized parrots; there was something raptorial in their eyes, and they stalked her threateningly. This was the absolute  _worst_ moment to remember what Hoggle had told her: the Fireys were originally runners themselves, older ones, who’d lost their minds in the Labyrinth.  _This is what I could’ve become, if Jareth was wrong,_ she thought, and a chill ran down her spine.

“Enough of that,” Sarah said sternly. If Jareth had already pointed out to Amelia that she was queen here, she might as well act like it. “As Queen of Umardelin, I demand you let this runner pass.”

“Queen?” one of them chortled. “You ain’t got no crown!”

“No pendant,” another added.

Sarah held up the key around her neck. “See this? It’s the Key to the Kingdom. Now back off!”

“Keys are for Champions,” the first Firey said. “Not Queens.”

A third had already gotten behind her, and sniffed her shoulder, at which Neesk snarled in tiny fury. “Don’t smell like no queen,” it laughed.

“Does her head come off?” another one asked, as Sarah whirled on the third.

“Nope, that’s it, we’re done here,” she snapped. “We’ve been through this once, my head does _not_ come off, and if you don’t leave _now_ , I’ll yank all your heads off and chuck them in the bog!”

Amelia, panting, only watched, and Sarah didn’t have time to reassure her. A Firey grabbed her shoulder, and she yanked away. Neesk leapt off her head, shrieking a war-cry, and his weight knocked its head right off.

Flapping its ears, the head rose while Neesk bit its nose, and the Firey’s body reached out to grab him. He squealed, and Sarah’s vision went gold.

“ _I command you to cease!”_ she shouted. She spared a glance for Amelia, wondering what the girl saw, and snapped to her, “Get clear!”

The Fireys, meanwhile, laid hold of her with sniggering defiance, and Neesk bit the fingers off the one that grabbed him. Sarah had no time left, there was strength enough in their wiry grips to pull her apart, and she reached for the power that flowed golden through her with her outrage. “ _You have no power over me!”_ she roared.

The same explosive force that had worked on the goblins shattered the Fireys, so heads and torsos and limbs rolled in all directions. Neesk, too, was caught in the blast, but he bounced and recovered, running back to Sarah with squeaks of triumph. He ran up to her shoulder, and Sarah stood panting with gold streaks still in her vision, challenging, “You wanna try that again, guys?”

As the body parts rolled back toward each other, it looked as though they just might … and she wasn’t sure how soon she could summon another blast. Instead, Sarah looked to Amelia and held out her hand. “Come on, while they’re trying to put themselves back together!”

“You _are_ magic! And you have one of those goblins! Why should I trust you?” the girl called, her eyes wild.

Sarah ground her teeth. She’d just attacked the only creatures here that scared her for this ungrateful brat, and she was still getting shit for Jareth’s unwelcome revelations. Part of her wanted to abandon Amelia to her fate…

… but she wasn’t doing this for Amelia. She was doing it for her son, Henry. “Let me put it to you this way,” she growled, glaring. “What _choice_ do you have?” Amelia blinked, and took her hand, and they ran for it.

Somewhere in the castle, Hoggle was probably laughing at her.

 

…

 

Amelia and Sarah ran, clutching each other’s hands to keep from falling on the uneven path. They crossed into the junkyard swiftly, and the ground seemed to turn under their feet. Sarah raised her gaze to the horizon, making sure they were headed toward the castle.

She had to stop when Amelia’s feet caught on the protruding legs of a table, spilling them both to the ground. Neesk went rolling, but scampered back happily. They were both panting by then, and Sarah sat up first, brushing bits of junk off her.

“Okay,” Amelia finally said. “I’m sorry I freaked out at you. And thanks for getting rid of them.”

“You’re welcome,”Sarah replied.

The girl groaned, and rested her head in her hands. “I’ve been stuck in the forest for  _hours_ . First I fell down a hole, and had to climb a tree from the inside to get out. Then there were these little cute fairies, and they swarmed me and wouldn’t stop  _biting_ me, and I had to run from them. I found this swamp that just  _stank_ , I mean worse than Henry’s diapers when he was on antibiotics, and I barely got past  _that_ on this jacked-up rope bridge that swung the whole time. Then  _those_ things were chasing me, and I tried to hide. That worked for a while. They found me, and I climbed a tree, and one of them took its head off and threw it at me!”

“The Fireys do that,” Sarah replied, smiling a little. Had she sounded like this to Hoggle that first time, to all of them like this when they had had their solo adventures? What a question. Of course she had.

“This place is massively screwed up,” Amelia complained.

Sarah couldn’t help laughing. “You haven’t seen the half of it. C’mon, let’s get you to the goblin city. You have a son to win back.”

“My mom always said my smart mouth would get me in trouble,” Amelia sighed. “Guess I’m gonna be a lot more careful what I say, from now on.”

That wasn’t a bad lesson for her to learn, and Sarah helped her up. Both of them dusted themselves off, Amelia leaning against half a table that stuck up from the conglomeration of junk.

Until it moved, and she fell with a yelp. “Watch where yer goin’!” a cantankerous voice snapped, and Sarah moved forward even as Amelia boggled.

Sarah now knew that there were more creatures living in the junkyard, but this looked like the same one she’d confronted all those years ago. “Beat it,” she said warningly. “She’s not half-stunned from a peach dream, you can’t fool her.”

The junk lady’s mouth worked with angry words she didn’t quite say, but Sarah caught a grumbled, “Not fair,” as she trundled off, pans clanking.

“The hell was _that_?” Amelia asked.

“Do you want a complete tour and a list of all the Labyrinth’s creatures, or do you want your son?” Sarah shot back, and that brought Amelia to her feet.

Unfortunately, the junk people were no longer the only ones watching them.

 

…

 

Jareth soared over to the junkyard leisurely. This runner had several hours left – too much time, he thought, as it was making her cocky. Sarah’s interference was making the run too easy for his taste, though watching the girl scrambling out of the tree-oubliette, across the Bog, and into the Firey’s clutches had been amusing. He couldn’t let her think there was no challenge here, that her foolish words were so easily taken back, so when Sarah and the runner started toward the city again, he was waiting.

“Well, well,” Jareth chuckled, strolling toward them both. This time he wore armor, which clearly intimidated their runner; the girl fell back a step, letting Sarah lead. “You _do_ realize this is meant to be what’s-her-name’s run, don’t you, Sarah mine?”

“My name is Amelia,” the girl said, standing firmer. Like Sarah herself, confrontation brought out the best in her, and Jareth let his approving smile curl into a sardonic smirk. 

“Enough, Jareth, you’re grand-standing,” Sarah said, defiant as ever as she stepped forward to face him. “She’s fought on her own for most of the damn thing. I made four allies, there’s nothing wrong with Amelia having help from one.”

“Oh, but I think assistance from the soon-to-be queen is far too much assistance for any runner,” Jareth replied.

“Really? As I remember it, you helped me, last time,” Sarah pointed out. “Occasionally when I could have handled it myself perfectly fine.”

“I had ulterior motives,” he purred, letting his lascivious gaze make those motives absolutely clear.

That hateful glare was his reward, as he could feel her temper begin to rise. If only she wouldn’t make it so easy for him. Shearing off a bit of her fury, Sarah kicked an empty can at him, taking on her own arrogance. “Knock it off, Jareth. It’s too late in the game for this. You and I both know you can’t stop us, so just get out of the way,  _Your Majesty_ .”

And that gave him the perfect idea. Laughing, Jareth held up his hand, Amelia’s clock fading into view behind him. “No, but with all the generous help you’ve rendered, I do need to even the scales.” A flick of his fingers, and the clock hands spun.

The look of thwarted outrage on Sarah’s face was almost enough to make him laugh. “Oh, you under-handed...”

“No!” Amelia cried. “Stop it, that isn’t fair!”

“Life so rarely is, little girl,” Jareth taunted… 

… and then paused, because his magic had hit a snag somehow. He looked at the clock and saw the minute hand straining against his hold.

This was very advanced magic, and he turned to Sarah with incredulity. Somehow, she managed to catch hold of time itself. Because he’d done it to her before? Because she knew herself to be his equal, and felt that anything he could do, she could also accomplish? Or because Umardelin loved a contest, and lent her the skill? Jareth didn’t know which it was, only that Sarah shouldn’t have been able to do it at all, much less so soon.

Her brow furrowed, and she bared her teeth with concentration. “Amelia, go. I’ve got this,” she told the runner, and twisted her wrist just so, buying back half an hour of time.

“You truculent little wench,” Jareth said, in tones of awe. 

She broke into startled and delighted laughter, forcing back the minute hand even further. Sarah shone with her own accomplishment, as the runner bolted off. Meanwhile his intended queen and bride gave him a grin every bit as predatory as his own. Even as she was trying to catch her breath, she returned his earlier taunt. “No, life … isn’t … always fair. Your move, Goblin King.”

“You are well-named, Sarai,” Jareth murmured, and banished the clock when she’d given the girl an extra hour. Sarah was panting with exertion, but radiated smug delight. He had to wipe that look off her face. “Since you’ve given away such a great advantage, I must prepare the city’s defense. And I cannot have you interfering any more. So…”

A quick gesture, and the Key to Umardelin unwound itself from Sarah’s neck, flying toward his hand. Though she was Champion and chosen,  _he_ was still king – and for the moment she was still uncrowned. For a little while longer, he had this power over her; after the coronation he would not be able to take the key. Sarah gave a cry of dismay that quickly turned to wrath, as Jareth teleported himself and the key back to the castle. 

His first order was to bar the gates after the runner passed, to keep Sarah out at all costs. And then he mustered the goblin army. “Absolutely no biting!” he roared; this girl Amelia needed to be frightened and taught a lesson, but not harmed. And unlike Sarah’s last run, when her disbelief had shaken his control of the realm and made the goblins more vicious, this much he could ensure.

Jareth went inside to check on the baby, finding his parents in the audience chamber. “Forgive me, Mother, Father, the runner is nearby,” he said hurriedly. They waved him on unconcernedly.

Amelia managed to sneak through the city, for the most part, by simply ducking into a barrel, kicking out the bottom, and shuffling quietly along. Her ruse was effective until a goblin jumped atop the barrel. The lid, which she’d loosened to peer out of, fell in atop her. Luckily for her, the barrel itself did afford some protection. It still could have gone either way, but she snatched a spear from one of the guards and used it to sweep goblins out of her path. In short order, she arrived at the castle bruised, scuffed, and angry, but uninjured.

And Jareth met her on the steps, cradling her son, who cooed happily and tugged at his hair.

A complicated mix of emotions flew across her face. Frustration and anger melted away to relief and adoration at seeing the boy, safe and sound. Then a deeper fury rose. “Give me back my son,” she demanded, striding forward.

Every run was not the same, and Sarah’s right words would not work for most runners. For Amelia, this was not a power struggle between herself and Jareth, but a straightforward mission to retrieve her son – and atone for her momentary foolishness.

“Why should I?” he demanded, rocking the boy. “He seems quite happy here. And you were the one who wished him away.”

“That was a mistake,” Amelia replied, stalking forward. “One I won’t make again. Now give me the child – don’t make me come and take him.”

Jareth took a step toward her, glaring, his eyes full of iridescent fire. Around her, the goblins began to gather, chittering softly. But the girl braced up under threat, as she had from the first, and met him step for step. “Henry is my son,” she replied. “I’ll never give him up. He’s mine. And I beat your Labyrinth. You have no right to him.”

The tension in the atmosphere let go suddenly, which Jareth could feel – and so could Sarah, even outside the walls. Umardelin judged the contest complete, and Jareth dropped his hands as the little boy magically appeared in his mother’s arms. “What a strange dream,” he murmured, magic lending weight to his words even as she completely ignored him to croon to her son in heart-wrenching relief. “Who would ever imagine that you could do such a thing? Surely it was only a dream, you would never truly wish away your own flesh and blood. But in your heart of hearts, Amelia,  _remember…_ ”

The girl and her child faded from the castle steps. They would find themselves at home, and she would believe this all a daydream. But she would never forget the commitment, the choice to suffer and strive to keep her babe, and though she might not have chosen to become a mother so soon, she would not regret her boy. She would love him dearly, all his life, and raise him as best she could.

That much of their future, Umardelin let him feel, and Jareth sighed. The good endings were rarer than he liked. The goblins cheered, though they would’ve cheered just as loud if they’d kept the boy, and he made sure to send several of the most reliable to unbar the gates before Sarah battered them down.

Footsteps made him turn around, and Jareth saw his parents descending the castle steps. “So she won,” Thiel said. “I’m glad for her.”

“I am, too,” Jareth sighed. “Some of them I’m happy to defeat, some I can be philosophical about, but this one deserved to win.”

“Didn’t you tell us that Sarah’s run left the city in ruins?” Della added, smirking. “I imagine you’re also glad that _this_ run ended without so much collateral damage.”

“Yes, well, Sarah was different,” Jareth explained. “She made allies, which many runners don’t. And she’d actually won the moment she gained the castle steps. I could’ve handed over her brother, but I made her confront me, instead. I was trying to convince her to stay. I’d figured out that she might be the answer to the curse … but it was too soon, for us both. And I paid the price for it.”

“Speaking of Sarah, where is she?” Thiel asked.

“I barred her from the city,” he replied. “She was being a bit _too_ helpful.”

Thiel immediately took a step back from him. “You’re going to pay for that, you realize.”

“Of course. I expect no less. But I have a few things to repay her for, as well.” Jareth smiled, letting his grin explain the probable currency of their payback. “You and Mother will have to continue to entertain yourself, I’m afraid.”

Thiel looked at Della and raised an eyebrow. “And you worried they were putting on appearances for us. Sounds more to me like they’re trying to give us grandchildren as soon as physically possible.”

Jareth coughed. “Not yet, Father. Sarah needs to extend the engagement as long as possible, and I prefer that my children are born legitimate. So you have several years, at least, before you have to choose nameday gifts.” He chuckled, and added, “That doesn’t mean we cannot practice, however.”

“Good luck with that,” Della laughed, nodding toward the road. “Thiel, you and I should take cover. Here she comes.”

 


	22. Keep Your Pretty Mouth Shut

Turning to follow her gaze, Jareth realized that his parents leaving might be for the best. Sarah stalked up the road, goblins fleeing after one glance at her. She carried her own storm of power, a shimmering golden haze of fury that briefly gilded each building she passed. And the Key to the kingdom, where he’d tucked it into his sleeve, was growing hot.

Jareth wisely tossed the Key into the air, giving it a touch of magic so it flew straight to his Champion while she was still out of reach. She caught it, and strung it around her neck without missing a stride, every footfall bespeaking her wrath.

Taking the Key had probably not been his best decision.

“Welcome back, Queen Sarai,” he called, and would not back down before her. In fact, he strolled toward her, calling up his own power in a storm of dark iridescence.

“You obnoxious sneaky bastard,” Sarah snarled. “I _knew_ Amelia was gonna have to face you alone, you dick, you didn’t have to lock me out! And taking the Key, don’t you _ever_ pull that shit again or I’ll be a widow before we’re even–”

He’d reached her then, or she’d reached him, and he caught the nape of her neck, yanking her close. Sarah’s eyes flew wide, her power swirling around them both; the heat of her wrath was intoxicating. His magic and hers met, twining together, not in violence but certainly in competition. And competition between them had a certain form of resolution, lately. Jareth seized her in a kiss, feeding off her fury.

She bit his lip, and when he pulled back from that he tasted blood. Sarah punched him hard in the chest, still growling, but the mingling of power and anger and lust was too strong even for her, and she kissed him again, winding her fingers tightly in his hair.

Jareth let that kiss go on until they both needed air, drawing back only slightly. “I should have warned you, Sarah, mixing our magic like that has  _side effects_ . And you are irresistible when you’re angry,” he murmured. “Your runner won. And once you are crowned, I won’t be  _able_ to take the Key from you, not without force and bloodshed, which I would never risk.”

“Shut up,” she growled, and kissed him again. “I’m still mad at you, you arrogant bastard.” Her eyes were predatory, and she was everything he’d ever wanted.

Jareth only laughed, and swept his magic around them both. He  _was_ the more powerful, though her strength was growing. For a moment, her gold was wrapped up in his glimmering darkness, not stifled by his power but shining through it. Jareth took the moment of supremacy, and swept them into the castle.

Upstairs into their bedrooms was too far, at that moment, but the new throne room was right there … Jareth couldn’t resist, bringing them both there and barring the doors with a burst of magic. He took her hand and started to pull her toward the throne.

Sarah snatched her hand back, and as he turned to her in surprise, she swept her leg across his ankles and tripped him. “As if I’d give you exactly what you want right after you pull a stunt like that,” she snapped, and pounced on him. His shirt ripped under her hands, and he hissed as she bit his collarbone.

“Unfortunately for you, Sarai, you _are_ exactly what I want,” he shot back, and rolled her under him. 

She was in no mood for that, however, and he felt her power swirl around him before landing flat on his back again. “ _No_ ,” Sarah told him, her eyes purely gold. “Dammit, Jareth, I can’t help wanting you, but I don’t  _have_ to give in right now. I’m half tempted not to speak to you until the coronation.”

For once in his long life, Jareth was wisely silent. He’d hoped to transmute their conflict into sex, but Sarah was having none of it right now, despite the heat he felt rising from her skin.

“Don’t make me decide to wall _you_ out,” she continued. “And don’t you _ever_ take that Key from me again. _I am Champion here_ , and crowned or no, Umardelin chose _me_. Don’t you dare come between me and my land again. _I mean it._ ”

She was Queen in truth already; he’d dragged her back here despite all the potential dangers, and Sarah had stepped up to rule. Jareth knew he should have been afraid, that despite her love for him she was making a credible threat. He had known she had potential at fifteen, and twenty-five, but he never would have expected this level of commitment and command from her.

Here, where there were no witnesses save the land itself that pulsed its magic in both of their hearts, he could do what must be done to atone for taking the Key – and to show her he understood her precisely. Jareth tilted his head back as far as he could, baring his throat, and stretched his open palms above his head. “I yield, Your Majesty,” he said, softly and formally.

Sarah sat back atop him, blinking. That wild light still gleamed in her eyes as she seemed to consider him, the magic still wreathing her, before she leaned over him to nip his neck swiftly and sharply. Her dark hair was a curtain around them as she leaned back enough to stare down at him silently, the green of her eyes still swallowed by the gold. Jareth could feel the coiled need in her, but she made no move to take things further at the moment. “You, King of Goblins, King of Umardelin, did what you must to complete the ritual. You did what you deemed necessary,” Sarah finally spoke, her tone strangely formal. “Yet, by her design, I am the Chosen here, my will as strong. You remain the power here, Jareth of Etaron, but you must respect my place as I find it. Perhaps your wish isn’t precisely what you wanted it to be, now that you find yourself on the precipice?”

It was not only Sarah that spoke to him; Umardelin herself rang in the words. He had felt the kingdom take control of him before, too, been possessed by its power as Sarah was now. Most other monarchs had to demand that of their realms, but Umardelin was willful. “Yes, my lady,” he said, to both kingdom and queen. “I shall not treat you so lightly again. Your choice, and your power, are not mine to take.”

That cooled the molten gold of her gaze a little, a hint of green glimmering there. Yet there was one more thing he wished to have very clear. “As for my wish, all I want is you. I am Jareth of Umardelin now, not of Etaron. I will have no other kingdom before my own, and no other lady save my Champion and Queen.”

Sarah stared down at him for a long moment. “See that you do,” she finally said, and shifted to pull him up to her. She claimed him in a kiss, and he staked his possession right back with tongue and teeth.

That seemed to coax the fire in her blood, her pale fingers twisting into his hair again, all insistent heat and hunger again. Her eyes were her own, just the finest gold shine in their darkened green depths when she paused again for breath. Yes, still angry, with that glimmer still lurking, but she hadn’t pulled away. And if she pleased, Sarah would have. Leaning forward, she nipped his lip again, but more gently now, now more quietly challenging. “I wouldn’t make you something you’re not, Jareth. I mean it; you are King here. I’ll never try to change that. I never could. But you brought me here, wanted me here, and I wanted you, wanted this place. So I came. But, like you told me,  _bluntly_ ,” – Sarah took a moment to boldly look him in the eyes, suddenly and sharply arching against him – “I won’t be your kept woman, Jareth. If you think I’ll be content to watch from the sidelines, if all you remember from those dreams is the mind-numbing wrongness of what we were doing, and just how damn good it felt. You wanted me to take the crown, even then. That’s part of why you kept coming back, even when I deliberately misunderstood what you were trying to tell me. When I  _kept_ misunderstanding. Until we didn’t care anymore how or why we came together. You wanted to make me your Queen; you tempted me in every way you could for years. And God help you, Jareth, after all this time, you have what you said you wanted. I mean to take it.” 

She was driving him half-mad, her warned words intense and solemn, while the way her body moved was a very different kind of intense. And Sarah knew it, knew to use his lust to make him listen to her, to make certain he was enthralled enough to understand how very serious she was. “You are no one’s concubine,” he murmured, watching her. “Least of all mine. I wanted you for the will that matches mine, for the heart that is as fierce, for the mind that is as brilliant. I wanted you to rule beside me…”

He trailed off as she moved against him. Sarah paused then, her lips a breath from his as she seemed to trace them with her lowered gaze, rocking again, almost gently this time. “I’m not still the pretty little princess you thought I was in that park, Goblin King, to blink wide innocent eyes in confusion whenever something important happens, to cower when you raise your voice. You learned that mistake years ago and never looked back, I think. I’ll challenge you, I warned you that before I ever came back to your bed, and I’ll do it until my last breath. And you’d hate me if I didn’t. We both know that.”

That was too much, and Jareth reached up, running his hands up her back to the glorious fall of her hair. “You think I want you to cower before me?” he purred, chuckling softly. “Sarah, Sarah. I want you  _because_ you challenge me. Because we are as well-matched in battle as in love. I won today knowing I cannot win the same way again – and with you, I’ll never win the same way twice. It was an underhanded trick, Sarai, and I swear to you, I will never steal the symbol of your rank again. I won’t be able to, once you’re crowned, for you will be Queen here. You already are Queen, in all but name. The Key burned when you approached – it knows its rightful owner.”

A pause, while his hands traced her flanks, and he met her gaze with his own, steady and just as dangerously honest. “I should not have snatched at that fleeting advantage. I acted in haste and without thought, for we have not had a chance to discuss what our roles should be with runners, and what Umardelin will allow. I won’t let you risk alienating your kingdom, Sarai – but I should have stopped time if necessary to warn you, rather than steal the Key. Forgive me, my lady queen. Ruling goblins, one learns to choose expediency over diplomacy.”

“See that you don’t make the same mistake again,” she warned. “Because Jareth, I’m really _not_ that little girl. You can’t mollify me with peaches and sex so I’ll do as you please. At the same time, I don’t expect you to be anything less than the Goblin King. I think I would hate you, if you were less. I tried safe and sane and normal, and he up and left when he realized I wanted more. A more he could never give me.”

“You cannot be happy with safe and sane and normal, Sarah, for you are none of the above. You are dangerous, and fae-touched, and extraordinary,” he told her. “As for peaches … I thought of bringing you down here bespelled. It would have been easier, in a way, to simply steal you from your mortal life and trap you in a darker dream. But I have always known that you would one day break free … and for _that_ offense, you’d have my head and my crown.”

She let out a long sigh, and the last of her anger seemed to fade. It was not yet gone – she would not easily forgive him for taking the Key, he saw – but he was no longer particularly worried about the sharpness of her nails against his skin. “You call me dangerous, and you still want to fuck me on your throne?” Sarah asked, in lighter tones.

“Precious, I want to fuck you on _our_ throne precisely _because_ you are dangerous,” Jareth replied, and swept them up again with his magic, to deposit them both on said throne … though in deference to her, he was still the one reclining, and she was astride him.

Her smile was slow and wicked. “You never could let go of that dream, could you?”

“Some dreams are worth holding on to.” He hooked his fingertips into her collar and pulled her down for another kiss.

He could feel her chuckle against his mouth, the low and throaty pitch of it calling memories to mind that made him kiss her all the harder, fading into a quiet moan when she pulled back. Sarah pulled herself closer to him then, adjusting her position for a heart-stopping moment that left both of them gasping. And then her husky voice was in his ear, her arms curling around his shoulders, “Most dreams, actually. Hopefully the reality will live up to at least one of the fantasies.” There was a pause then, as if she was considering, then she added, in a near-whisper, that smoky wisp of laughter, “At least this is easier on my knees, if my memory of the last one serves.”

Jareth’s chuckle was just as rich with memory. “I do believe that was one of  _my_ dreams, precious. If we’re going to make it a reality, I shall have to put down a thicker carpet for you to kneel on.”

“Don’t get too used to me kneeling,” Sarah warned.

He only leaned back, reminding her that she was the one atop him this time. “You know I’m quite willing to return the favor, whenever you should demand it. You’ve feared me and you love me, and once in a while you’ll even do as I say, so what choice have I but to be your slave?” The rough purr in his tone made her eyes go lidded, and Jareth added tauntingly, “So will you claim your throne now, Sarai?”

As expected, the change in tone shook her to action. That sportive smirk of hers, smugly curling up her right lip, appeared slowly when he spoke, her gleaming eyes sly. Her right hand lost its grip on the back of the throne to slip back over his shoulder, slowly tracing patterns across the linen of his shirt. Something devious was forming in that formidable mind, he was sure. “That all depends, Jareth. The question is, do I feel as thought I’ve received adequate restitution to allow such an intimate level of familiarity? I’m not sure that I have. At least not that worthy of the woman you claim you plan to crown.”

“In near two centuries as crown prince and then king, I have never yielded as I did to you, just now,” Jareth pointed out.

“And?” she said, arching a brow, that curve of her lip taunting him.

“And if that is not sufficient apology, Sarah mine, you shall have to instruct me on what _would_ be adequate,” he retorted. And then, smiling, he added, “Later.”

His gloved hands were in view, but Sarah felt his touch tracing ghostly up her leg beneath her gown. Magic, he’d done this with his magic once before, and she felt its shimmering warmth trailing along her inner thigh. There was the gasping catch of her breath, though she was trying mightily not to allow her expression show her pleasure. Jareth knew  _just_ where and how to touch her … and it was entirely unfair that he could do it without actually  _touching_ her, too. 

The same could not be said for her traitor body; he could feel her thighs tighten on either side of his currently-trapped legs, the warmth of her clear even through the fabric of the gown. Yes, she was cross with him, out of sorts, but for the moment, Jareth would follow her fever’s lead. The slightest beginning of a rhythm was building in her, his ministrations having their usual response. Her teasing fingers had still to knot into his shirt, though the true sign of her weakening was the dazed way she watched him through those sleepy-seeming eyes; the heat in her was rekindled, despite her sulky mood. That look had become the precursor to her losing control, his being devoured.

Still, he did not want to press his luck too far tonight. He’d come too close to making her really and truly furious with him. And while Jareth loved to warm himself at the fire of their blazing arguments, he feared what would happen if he pushed Sarah too far. Not heat but ice, and silence; she had locked him out once before, and he’d be damned if he let it happen again. It was no hardship, even to pride such as his, to be contrite for one evening, when those were the stakes.

So he kept those touches slow and soft, asking rather than demanding. No need to spur her on to greater passion; Sarah had a wild wanton heart all on her own, and all he had to do was wake it with these tender, knowing caresses.

She moved in slow swiveling reaction to his magic, arching when he stroked down her spine, tightening her lean strong thighs when he sent feathery touches flickering there. And all the while, his own rising interest grew more apparent, to be indulged at her leisure.

A fact that she was entirely aware of, apparently, a throaty moan drawn from her even as she leaned her head back in hungry reaction, keeping herself teasingly close but just shy of friction. The use of magic was still very new for her and she seemed to relish it when he unleashed it on her, thus far. For all of her protests, he knew from experience that the build was a large part of the enjoyment for her, allowing the lightning to spark her into flames before she would give in, burning them both for the wait and with no apology for it.

Another whimper then, her pace quickening against him, before those greedy little hands were shakily tugging at his shirt, one hand already under and tracing his skin as if it were a book she was committing it to memory. It was something he had known about her for years and loved her for it; once lit, she burned high and hot until she had what she wanted, be it her pleasure or his. Voracious in the moment, not a second spent on nor a thought given for pretty words or decorum. “This … might work for a … start,” she murmured urgently, flashing those darkened eyes at him.

Jareth narrowed his eyes and focused his magic, though Sarah’s questing hands were a terrible distraction. It took all of his will to remain supine beneath her, when every instinct demanded that he give as good as he was getting. To that end, he smirked wickedly, and let the caress of his power rise to her breasts as well. It was as if he had four hands on her at once, quite a feat of distraction in itself. His actual hands he gave the simple mission of unlacing the front of her gown, something Jareth could do practically in his sleep.

Oh, yes, the spark was most definitely lit; a swift, sharp cry tumbling from Sarah’s gasping lips then, a shiver that ran through her like a current, and he attempted to keep the chuckle silent. Once already? Her resistance to this particular caress had always been nonexistent, stealing her thoughts and any lingering impedance in that instant. Before he could touch her with more than magic, she was impatiently pulling his shirt over his head and off of him even as he was baring her to the night. Without a moment’s pause, her lips were against his collarbone, nipping lightly and briefly as she resuming her oft-repeated exploring. Even as she did, he could feel one of her hands snake down to her skirts, raking back the volume of them to press the summer’s heat of her bare thighs against the fabric of his breeches. Quickly, too quickly, he felt the back of her hand brush against him, the strength of the touch just enough to tell him it was no accident. If the way her lips had curled against the line of his shoulder had not already given her away, that was.

“Methinks you find it a most appropriate apology,” Jareth purred, and let his hands take over the work of some of the magic. That, he needed to remove his breeches without removing Sarah from his lap, so that she had no more excuse for avoiding him. They had always fit together so naturally, it was little wonder that he found himself in position to please her quite readily.

But it would be  _her_ move, this time. He chose to let Sarah take him, as she had during her run, rather than commanding her. This dalliance atop the throne was a reminder that he knew very well who was Queen of this realm, and of his heart.

He heard her gasp when the fabric ceased to be, her bent head rising then, her rumpled hair falling in her eyes when she looked up through its waves. Sarah’s level gaze met his, the look in her eyes hot enough to burn, her breath coming quickly and her color high. The bust of her gown currently residing far lower than it should, she was bare to the waist where his hands did not tease and they were surrounded by the sweep of her skirt. Oh, that look in her eye; no need to curse the innocence that had once stared back at him. He cherished that esurient look on her.

“And if I possibly find it so?” she responded in a low voice, making the sly movement again, hidden by the swirls of fabric hiding the rest of her. “What boon would you ask of me, Jareth of Umardelin? What would the Goblin King ask of the mortal whom he must allow to share his throne?” 

“The same as ever, my lady queen,” Jareth murmured, a little catch in his breath at her subtle touch. And let iridescence bloom in his eyes, turning his gaze fey and wild. His voice went low, rough with emotion as it had been once before. “Love me.”

He could see the sudden awareness in her eyes, the echo of memory, and how she smiled then, first startled and charmed before it grew sultry. Without another word, her lips were on his, Sarah rising slightly for an instant in whose aftermath had them both gasping. Gods, the feel of her! In his lap now, the scent of her surrounding him as she curled closer, arms going around his neck. The shudder that fell from her lips as they joined was its own memory, that sound alone, a sound he had first heard so many years ago. Even now, as they had just begun, a low and soft moan drew itself between her lips. “I did, I have, I can, and I will,” she managed softly, her hair curtaining them again as she leaned her forehead into his, breath coming quickly. “Though one day you may live to regret it.”

Jareth let her set the pace, his hands and magic drifting over her skin to heighten her pleasure. His own was quite high enough, at having her so, and could in fact benefit from the distraction of seeing to hers first. “I shall never regret you, Sarah,” he breathed, and arched up to meet her. “ _Never._ Though you raze my city a dozen times, I would still consider you worth it.”

That had the intended effect, her rhythm paused, only to resume stronger. “Never … is a long time. Plenty of time … to make you wish you hadn’t … _oh_ … bothered.” She swallowed a groan then, one hand reaching up to tangle in his hair, before she leaned away to look at him. Despite her determination, already Sarah’s eyes had grown hazy. Something must have shown in his expression, however, because they flared suddenly with the effect that she rocked against him harder. “And if … I tried to make it _my_ city? If I started to get as jaded … _oh God_ ,”she lost her breath for a moment, her whole body tightening in reaction. “… jaded as the rest of your kind? What … what then? I could be a danger to you, Jareth.”

He grinned to her savagely, and let his grip on her hips tighten. “So long as it is _our_ city as it is our castle and our realm, I shall give you not a murmur of complaint. Try to make it _yours_ , try to take my rule from me, and I’ll see you clapped in irons ‘til you come to your senses, Sarai.” She swiveled her hips then, and he threw his head back with a yearning growl. “Damn you, you wanton. I yield to you justly, but … never will you take from me what I fought and bled for. _That includes you_.”

“Really?” There was no warning before she clenched once and then twice upon him. Never had she denied her hot blood; they both knew it would be ridiculous to try. It was her turn to return that cruel smile before she bore down harder on him, still in control, but not in the slightest trying to stifle her sounds of pleasure. “ _Good_. Hold to that,” she gasped out, “it wouldn’t be half as fun if you wouldn’t hold your own.” Despite the flavor of her words, he knew her mocking even in a moment like this. Again, her muscles tightened on him. 

That intimate tension bearing down upon him made her entirely too delectable to resist; Jareth hissed with pleasure, eyes going wide. “I’ll show you holding my own,” he growled, and seized her with magic. It was the work of a second to reverse their positions, though a trifle more awkward for them both; the throne was unforgiving stone, still unpadded by cushions. At least she had her thoroughly rumpled dress still caught about her waist to protect her.

There was room enough to lay Sarah back when he caught her knees and drew her roughly up to him, which was all that mattered to Jareth. “Speak to me of treachery and usurpation,” he murmured, and thrust hard enough to make her cry out. “See that you are reminded, Sarai, we  _both_ rule here, and rule each other.”

“I could’ve taken it from you at seventeen, if I’d wanted to,” she purred, emerald eyes lidded.

He shifted his hands to her waist, lifting her lower body clear of the throne to sweeten the angle – and remind her of his strength. “I rather preferred what I took from you, at that age. And if you’d been bent on conquest, my Sarah, think what you would have missed.”

Despite the ferocity of their lust, Sarah laughed, her voice ringing silvery off the walls of the throne room. His words were the last spoken, as Jareth set about showing her exactly why neither of them could ever hope to do without the other.

 


	23. After the Storm

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the delay, all. One of your co-authors, Lois, was extremely ill this last week on top of a shake-up at her job the week before. Needless to say, not a very happy working environment at all. Posting may be a little slow for the next couple of weeks, but no, we're not abandoning this guy. It's just that real-life occasionally deals you unexpected blows. Thank you all for being here! We love you!

Jareth woke alone the next morning, the bed beside him cool, though it had been quite warm enough when he and Sarah at last made their way to it yesterday. Night had drawn down around them while they indulged in what Sarah had snickeringly called ‘consecrating the throne’, and it was late when they retired. Covered trays had been sent up to his rooms, and they’d dined quietly, the meal seasoned by mutual satisfaction. His sleep had been very thorough, and he’d anticipated waking her with another round this morning.

But Sarah had apparently been up, and there was a note on her pillow for him. _Several messages yesterday, need to go up. Should be back in afternoon. If my reckoning is right._ She’d skipped a space, then added again, _If_.

He sighed, and folded the note before setting it aside. Time was unpredictable, and she could be earlier or later than she expected. Very well, after having taken the Key from her yesterday, Jareth could not begrudge her the absence; Sarah was likely still annoyed, despite their enthusiastic reconciliation. It was not in her nature to forgive lightly, and he valued that aspect of her character. It showed that she held firm to her principles, and was not easily swayed, just the sort of determination required of a queen.

And queen he meant to make her, in name as well as fact. The time left to her coronation could be measured in days. Sighing, Jareth rose and bathed before dressing, going down to breakfast alone.

His parents were already there, Thiel making inroads on an incredible stack of pancakes, Della nibbling at her own share. She arched her eyebrow when her son arrived. “I take it you and Sarah settled matters to your satisfaction?” his mother asked in too sweet a tone.

“He’s still alive, so she must’ve forgiven him,” Thiel pointed out.

“Yes, we have, though her absence speaks to lingering resentment,” Jareth replied, as his own breakfast arrived before him. He set to with a will, his focus already shifting to their upcoming plans.

Della wasn’t done with him, though. “We were supposed to be finalizing decorations for the throne room yesterday evening, you know,” she said with mock reproach.

“Mother,” Jareth groaned, not relishing a lecture.

She continued with amusement, “I’d scold you for the obvious haste with which you barred the doors, since a far lesser mage than I could have taken them down in a trifle while you were distracted. However, despite the tapestries, the room echoes, so we were all very much aware of the nature of your distraction.”

She was smirking at him, and damned if he would be embarrassed. “Now you see why I installed you and Father in the most soundproofed rooms in the castle,” Jareth replied in the same sweet tones, and Thiel coughed in surprise. Jareth continued, “I will not apologize for myself or Sarah. Given her voice and my skill, a few seconds was enough to realize we were thoroughly occupied. If you listened long enough to embarrass yourself, that is your own fault, Mother.”

Della sat back, bringing her glass to her lips. “If I was the sort to be embarrassed by my child’s proclivities, I’d have died of it a thousand times over long before now,” she shot back.

He could only shrug extravagantly. “Am I not the child of the loveliest fae princess in the land? And have I not inherited her beauty and charm alongside Father’s virility and majestic carriage? It would be more cause for concern if I had  _ not  _ been so sought after.”

His parents glanced at each other over this piece of outrageous flattery, to both himself and them, then broke into laughter. After a moment Thiel regained his composure enough to say, “Enough, the pair of you. We’ve been getting dispatches back, and it looks as though most of the kingdoms will attend. Your grandmother, unfortunately, won’t be here.”

Jareth frowned. “She cannot come, or will not?”

Della supplied the answer. “There is some sort of fever sweeping through Astolwyr, and she is loathe to leave her people. I know my mother, she is grumbling every waking moment over the ridiculous frailty of them all for falling sick so readily, even while she works herself to exhaustion brewing elixirs for them.”

Having seen Iswyniel at work, Jareth could only nod. She was a truly fearsome sorcerer, with both more experience and more talent than himself and Della. If some plague required her attention at all, it was deadly, and kept her fully occupied. “Does she require your assistance?” he asked Della, a little worried.

His mother scowled, and Thiel scoffed. “She expressly forbid Della to come. ‘Don’t you dare stir yourself, I have this well in hand. And someone needs to keep a check rein on that boy of yours.’ As if you’d go and declare independence or something equally foolish.” His imitation of Iswyniel’s sharp tongue was surprisingly good, and got a sigh from Della.

It could not offend Jareth, though he did begin to worry at the prospect of introducing his grandmother to Sarah. That was some time off, though, and he had more pressing matters to concern him. “Will Galeraessian come?”

“We haven’t heard,” Della replied. “Likely that daughter of theirs is having a snit, given what you’ve told me of her behavior at the Champion’s Ball. They will pretend not to have received the invitation, I wager, and we will be glad of it.”

“Sarah certainly will, and I should be quite happy never to cross paths with Lyselle again,” Jareth replied.

Even then, he knew Lyselle would not simply forget him.

 

…

 

Sarah’s phone showed yet more missed messages, including a text from Toby that just said, “Sorry”. When she called her voicemail, and heard Karen’s bright-voiced invitation to bring her new boyfriend to dinner, she understood his text, though she swore in the quiet of her bedroom. It was too much to hope that she could conceal the relationship, and unfair to her parents as well. Luckily she and Jareth had worked out a cover story between them, so if he agreed to come Above and dine with them, there wouldn’t be any more awkwardness as there had been with her coworkers.

The second message was from Alix, leaving her a cell number and telling her to call whenever was convenient. Sarah saved the number in her phone, and went to the final message, which was from Amy at work. “You don’t need to come in, it’s all under control,” she began. “You and the sexy beast from the across the pond are probably verrrrry busy. But seriously, I know you’d rather hear this now than later. Anyway, Mr. Wilson never came home last night, and Mrs. Wilson checked the bank accounts only to find charges from a couple bars.”

Sarah swore out loud. The Wilsons were a married couple with a son, Jeff, just entering adolescence. Her firm had been called in originally because of the boy’s misbehavior and poor grades at school. She’d quickly discovered that the problem was the father’s alcoholism, and through a combination of persuasion and persistence gotten him into a rehab program. Don Wilson seemed genuinely repentant, and though he’d fallen off the AA wagon a few times, Sarah had really hoped he would stick with the rehab program and get himself clean at last. Sober, he was a brilliant man with a charming sense of humor, and she could see why his wife Jessica had stuck by him despite everything.

The problem was that once he started drinking, he turned belligerent. Sarah herself had once confronted him in the middle of a bender, and he’d looked ready to swing at her for demanding that he stay in a hotel instead of his own home. She’d met his glare with her own, and told him if he  _ did _ strike her, he’d end up in the hospital or jail that night, and the steel in her voice had convinced him. His call to her the next morning was full of regret and horror; he had no memory of what he’d said while blackout drunk.

Sarah had hoped, very much, that she could turn this one around. He wasn’t a bad man, just a man with a terrible problem, and she strove to help him and his family. Breaking them apart would be disastrous, especially for the son, but as Amy’s message continued, Sarah was unsurprised to hear that Jessica had packed and left for a women’s shelter. The last time Don had gotten drunk, she’d sworn to leave if he did it again, and they all knew that such ultimatums  _ must _ be followed up, or they would be ignored.

Hopefully Don would come to his senses, get back in rehab, and really commit to staying sober this time. His addiction to alcohol had already cost him thousands of dollars and at least one job; Sarah hoped his family was too precious to lose. She was glad at least that Jessica and Jeff were out of the house, wary of Don’s drunk temper, but for now everyone was safe.

The last message was from her mother, but it was just a pocket dial. Sarah shook her head and took her time with responses. First she sent a quick text to Toby, telling him not to worry. Next she sent Amy a message thanking her for the update, and asking to be kept apprised. Finally she called Alix, glad that it was a reasonable hour of the morning … then she remembered that Alix likely kept late hours, owning a club, and half past eight might be too early early for her.

The dryad answered on the second ring, and sounded more awake than Sarah did. They exchanged greetings, after which Sarah said, “I’ve got a few things to take care of today, but I can shuffle my schedule around as needed. When would be best for you?”

“I can meet you in Central Park in half an hour, if that suits,” Alix replied. “Otherwise, it’d be sometime this afternoon. Which do you prefer?”

“Now,” Sarah said, and heard a chuckle. “I have some questions, anyway, that you might be able to answer better than Jareth.”

“Then I’ll see you soon,” Alix said, and they hung up.

Almost immediately, the phone rang again, and Sarah answered it, expecting the dryad. “Is there something else?” she asked.

“No, just your mother calling to see how you are, darling,” Linda said airily, and Sarah just managed to suppress a groan.

“I’m good, Mom,” she replied. “Just busy with work, as usual. How are you? How’s Louis’ show?”

She knew from long experience that Linda didn’t actually want to hear the details of her own life; she’d pronounced Sarah’s work stories ‘too depressing’, and virtually anything else would only remind her of some more-amusing anecdote of her own. So Sarah just turned the conversation back to Linda, and let her preen.

Her only concern, dealing with her mother’s upcoming visit, was to make sure it was  _ after _ her coronation … and what a mind trip  _ that _ was, to think, no matter how accustomed she was getting to living two lives. Sarah knew that Linda would insist on meeting her new boyfriend, and she dreaded that too, but it would be easier once the stress of planning and pulling off the coronation was over.  _ Just a few more days, _ she thought to herself, as Linda went on.

At least she had the excuse of meeting Alix – whom she described as a client, to silence any questions – to cut the conversation short.

 

…

 

Sarah hurried to her meeting with Alix at Central Park … but it turned out that Alix was even earlier. She was already sitting on a bench, swinging her feet idly, and rose as Sarah approached. “How did it go, with the runner?” the dryad asked.

“Well enough,” she answered with a smile, falling into step beside her. There seemed to be no one else in the park at this hour, but likely that was a touch of fae magic. “She won her son back, and deserved to. Of course, Himself had to play the villain, and Umardelin let me help the runner, though there were some things I found I couldn’t do or say. And then that sneaky asshole snatched the Key to the Kingdom off me, so I couldn’t follow the runner all the way to the city. According to him, he won’t be able to do that once I’m crowned.”

Alix raised a perfectly shaped brow. “I daresay he’s lucky to have survived outraging you so.”

That won a laugh from her. “Yeah, we settled it with his unconditional surrender and promise not to do so again,” she said jokingly.

Instead Alix looked more interested. “You do realized, once crowned, that you are considered separately entities politically? Since you are not his wife, you are his co-ruler. It might even be that some of your subjects, and even some envoys from other kingdoms, would make their appeals to you rather than him.”

Sarah groaned. “Oh, great. Jareth would _love_ that. But now I understand why he was all snarly over the remote possibility I might take over.”

“Because you _could_ , and rule alone,” Alix said. “Jareth of Umardelin is not some young fool to be easily hoodwinked, though. Fortunate for everyone in your kingdom that you love him, and would not go to open war.”

“Yeah, we’re lucky like that,” Sarah said. “Maybe the whole separate rule thing is why I wasn’t as good at dealing with some of my subjects, this last run. The damn Fireys flat out denied me, and then attacked me. I did the whole magic explosion thing, but it seemed less effective that it did with the goblins.” 

Alix could only shrug. “I admit, the interaction of monarch and kingdom is _not_ my area of expertise. For that, you’ll have to speak to your king. But one thing I note – you speak of them with venom. Do you particularly despise these creatures?”

Sarah frowned. “Not really. If I’m honest … they were the only ones that really scared me, back when I first ran.”

“Then your magic knew your fear, and was hampered by it,” Alix replied. “Likely they also tasted your fear in your attack, whereas against the goblins you were purely enraged. Magic often responds as much to your state of mind as your intentions, which is why grounding and centering are so important.”

“And also why I’m here now. I’m sorry I had to break our appointment.” Sarah winced a little; professional punctuality and reliability were very much ingrained into her, though that was her father’s character, not her mother’s.

Alix waved that off. “I would be a fool to expect that you have enough free time to comfortably study magic, on top of everything else. For your own sake, and the entire city’s sake, I’m glad you make the time.”

“I’ve got to get this under control,” Sarah said firmly. “At least right now I have time off from work, and whenever you have the time to spare – since I know you’re busy, too – I’ll gladly work on it. It’s just this week. We’re in the middle of planning the coronation, his parents are here, my family just found out I have a boyfriend and wants him to visit for dinner, _plus_ my mother is coming to New York sometime soon. My life is going to be _insane_ for about two more weeks. Right now, I just wanna grab the crown, slap it on my head, and call it good. Just get it all over with.”

Alix fell silent for a moment, leading Sarah across into the Ramble and striking out off the paths. When she spoke again, it was with a strangely wistful note. “And then it will be another kind of madness, trying to work here and rule there. For  _that_ , I do not envy you.”

Sarah paused in the dappled shade of the trees. Something about Alix’s tone warned her. It wasn’t a lie, but it was awfully specific. And she had an idea of what it could be. “You would be queen, if you could,” she said slowly.

Alix turned to face her, slipping her glasses off. Her strange eyes were serious, and held no hint of coveting Sarah’s soon-to-be crown. “There has never been a dryad queen in her own right,” Alix said quietly. “My kind are not powerful enough for that. You know I cannot lie – I tell you this, I do not wish for command. But for safety? For the surety of having a place of my own, of power I can draw upon to protect those who trust me to lead them? For the certainty that no one can banish me, for the realm is  _mine_ ? That, yes, I would love to have that much.” 

Now Sarah noticed the way the trees around them seemed to sway subtly against the wind, as if leaning toward an old friend. Alix smiled wryly, and shook her head. “I like to think I would wield such command justly. But it is a soap-bubble dream, Sarah, and we live in a world with many sharp edges. If it is ever to be, it will take many years and much grueling work.”

Sarah’s heart gave an unexpected pang at that. She liked Alix, and the dryad’s words rang with sincerity. And she had a fondness for soap-bubble dreams, herself. “Jareth told me, sometimes the fae can carve out new kingdoms from the wilderness,” she offered. “His grandmother did that.”

The green-haired girl nodded. “Sometimes. It takes a stronger mage than I or any of mine, however. Your king’s grandmother is the Sorceress of Astolwyr, and  _that_ one is a power known even here. Old, and strong, and of high fae blood so pure it’s a wonder she even sees us lesser races.”

“She married an owl, remember,” Sarah pointed out. “I haven’t met her, but she can’t be _that_ racist.”

The terminology won a chuckle from Alix. “Oh, Sarah. The fae are not just racist, we are classist and elementalist and nationalist, as well. There are so many more  _kinds_ of snobbery amongst us. The water fae slight the drylanders, the African fae despise the Europeans, the physically smallest races scorn the human-sized ones as being overgrown and the giants mock us for being runts. And the dwarves hate everyone.”

“And everyone looks down on the goblins,” Sarah put in, and felt a familiar weight land on her back as Neesk scampered up to her shoulder. He wound a paw into her hair and grinned toothily at Alix. 

“That’s ‘kay, we’s short,” Neesk added.

Sarah, meanwhile, huffed a sigh when she looked at him, which was rather difficult given how close he was to her face. It had been far too easy to come to care for the little goblin, but his comings and goings were not always the best for her nerves. “What the …” She just shook her head in disbelief before sighing at him, watching him with a smirk. “Where on earth  _are_ you hiding when you’re not here, Neesk? I know you’ve been lurking somewhere.”

The question seemed to perplex him, and he grabbed his tail to chew nervously on it. Sarah reached up and gently pulled it away from his sharp teeth. “Don’t, Neesk, I’m not mad at you. I just want to know. You’re always here and then gone, and never when I expect it – I want to make sure you’re okay if you’re up here.”

“I gots ‘partment in Goblin City,” he said slowly. “But goblins can travel ‘tween Above an’ Under real good. So I’s been sleeping in yer desk. Or in the floors. Keeps the mousies away, ratsies too. Friend-lady has candy in her desk. Is all right?”

Well, that answered that question, at least. But that  _did_ mean he was up here all on his own and for what seemed like her sake alone. The thought of that didn’t sit well with Sarah. “So that’s where you’ve been. If that’s the case, I need to get you some snacks. Please don’t steal Amy’s candy; she’ll suspect and it’s not good for you all the time,” she said. “But I’ll get some for you, if you tell me what you like.” 

A thought occurred to her then; a rather large one to come up suddenly, but Sarah had to consider all that this little creature had done for her so far, in so short an acquaintance. He had had no real reason to that she could tell, only that he had decided for himself that he was her protector. Knowing that she could be setting herself up for trouble, she nevertheless offered, “Now, you can stay there, or you can stay at my apartment. I’ll make up a bed for you and everything.”

Neesk blinked, his huge eyes watering. “I can lives wit’ you?” he asked, his voice trembling.

The look on his tiny face hurt her heart a little. Which was only fair, since it hurt hers to think that he’d spent so much time sleeping in a desk for her sake. Whatever chaos he might bring with him, it would be worth it for her to know he could safely rest if he insisted on being Aboveground when she was. The only worry would be when other people were over, but they’d cross that bridge the next time Toby was up. “Yes, you can live with me. At least then there’s less a chance of you scaring me like that,” Sarah said with a laugh and a grin, and Neesk flung himself at her, hugging as much of her neck as he could get his little arms around.

“You’s the best queeny evers!” he squeaked.

Alix chuckled, watching them. “You treat your subjects well, Queen Sarah,” she observed. “But for this exercise, Neesk, I need her complete attention. Would you kindly not interfere?”

He folded his ears back at her, baring those needle teeth. “Better be nice! You hurts our Queeny, goblins  _eats you_ .”

Alix lifted her chin. “I have already sworn a binding oath to your king, Neesk of Umardelin,” she said in formal tones. “No threats are needed. My word is my bond.”

The sudden vehemence surprised her, but considering the threats to her lately, she couldn’t be too angry with him. He was only trying to do his self-appointed job. “Easy, Neesk, she’s a friend,” Sarah echoed, stroking his back.

The little goblin stood up tall. “Friends  _prove_ is friends. Takes long time to prove. Oaths gets broken, meanies lie and pretends nice, bad fae steal and hurt. But goblins is  _loyal_ . We protects our Kingy and Queeny, we protects our kingdom.  _Anybody_ hurts ‘em, we  _bites_ .” And gnashed his teeth for emphasis. 

 


	24. Grounding

Sarah tried to soothe Neesk again, ready to grab the little goblin if he tried to leap at the dryad. “Seriously, Neesk, it’s okay,” she said.

“Nobody tells me to leave but you,” he said stubbornly, gripping Sarah’s hair. “Don’ts trusts strangers. Stranger-danger!” 

She could only blink; despite the rumored Queensguard, it seemed that Neesk had appointed himself her protector. The idea of being protected by something that weighed half a pound was almost ludicrous, until one noticed the red spark in his eyes and the sharpness of his teeth.

And yet, the way he spoke reminded her that some of the goblins had once been human children. Was Neesk one of those, remembering advice a parent or teacher had given him long ago? If so, it explained one of the reasons he’d attached himself to her.

“You need not leave, Neesk, only do not interrupt,” Alix said gently. “I am tasked to teach Sarah magic, and it could go ill if she were distracted.”

He glared at her grumpily, and said only, “Be careful.”

Sarah started to apologize, but Alix shook her head slightly. “I take no offense, Sarah. Neesk has a point; I haven’t known you that long. And oaths  _can_ be broken, but it is never lightly done. Regardless, I mean neither of you any harm. I’m content to prove that, over time.” She gestured them to follow, and Sarah did, still petting Neesk. He settled quietly on her shoulder, his tail half-looped around her neck.

The place Alix brought them to was a little sheltered glade in the midst of the trees, with a large weeping willow at the center of it. As she approached, the willow’s trailing branches moved aside on their own, and Alix ducked into the dim shelter at its trunk.

Sarah followed, and realized she could stand up inside. It was like a little room in the forest, the noise of the city dimmed even more than usual in the park. The leaves were thick enough that no one could see them here, even if someone did leave the paths to explore. The ground beneath their feet was soft and loamy, layered over with fallen leaves. “Nice,” she said, turning around and looking up at the branches arching overhead.

“Neesk, I need you in the branches to keep a lookout,” Alix said, and sat down on the ground near the willow’s roots. “Sarah, sit here, with me.”

The little goblin scampered easily up the trunk – and out of the immediate way, Sarah noticed. Alix really was pretty good at manipulation, and she needed to remember that, no matter how friendly the dryad was. Sarah sat down in front of her, and Alix held out her hands, so Sarah took them.

“Now, I’m going to try to give you enough of my magic to see the world as I see it,” Alix said. “ _Without_ touching the Key to Umardelin, because I do not want to disturb the kingdom or its king. All you have to do is let me in.”

Sarah nodded, and her eyes widened as green tendrils of magic crept up her arms from where Alix held her hands. It looked exactly like vines, questing along her skin, and she felt a faint buzzing sensation as those tendrils looped around her wrists and traced up her arms. Sarah tried to focus on letting that magic sink into her skin, but she was honestly a little too fascinated by it. This was New York City, Central Park, broad daylight, people going about their daily business a few hundred feet away … and fae magic was twining itself in pretty bracelets around her forearms.

“Hmm,” Alix murmured, frowning. “You’re heavily shielded. It’s not his work, it’s built into who you are. You don’t give away much, you don’t like to let people in. I’ll bet that most of your life your lovers complained they never had your whole heart.”

That stung, reminding her of Barton, and Alix saw the look on her face. The dryad shrugged. “It is who you are, Sarah. You are one who protects, not one who needs protecting. No one’s damsel in distress – and no wonder he’s so intent on making you his queen. Better that you rule at his side than over him, right?”

“He thinks I don’t realize that,” Sarah said with a grateful laugh at the change of topic.

“I could break your shields, but that’s foolish,” Alix continued. “A waste of my energy and yours. I could teach you to lower them, but that will take time, and time is of the essence. There is an old way of skipping under such shields … Sarah, do you trust me?”

She considered the question. Every instinct she had about people already liked Alix, and she was well on her way to considering her a friend, despite being told time and again never to trust the fae. In any case, Alix had sworn an oath. “Yes,” she said.

“Then trust me,” Alix said, and leaned forward to place a brief, chaste kiss to Sarah’s lips. Sarah was totally surprised by that, but it made a kind of sense. What better way to slip past defenses embedded in skin than with a kiss? 

Any further speculation vanished as a sharply green taste filled her mouth, and Alix’s vision of the world slipped over her eyes.

Most people walking through a forest saw the animals first, the squirrels rushing to and fro, the birds calling in the trees, perhaps other people walking, maybe a butterfly or bumblebee flying past. They saw the plants and trees as a hazy green background, perhaps identifying a few species, but mostly ignoring the static elements in the scene.

Except the green world  _wasn’t_ static, as Sarah now saw. The oak tree nearby shed its tannin-rich leaves, poisoning the ground against competitors. Every tree stretched its limbs to capture as much sunlight as possible, and stretched its roots too, fighting for water and nutrients in the soil. The grass and weeds were part of that same war, and each plant had its own strategy to grab as much as it could, reproduce, and move its offspring far away where they wouldn’t compete with the parent plant. Nearby a fallen tree was eagerly devoured by fungi, turning back into loam. It was the animals that faded away, useful only as pollinators and seed distributors, and eventual sources of food.

Sarah could feel the sun pouring down into the willow tree, into  _her_ , every cell channeling and changing it into energy. She could feel the earth below her, endless fathoms of earth and clay and rock, rich with minerals and nutrients. Her roots wove into the soil and drank deeply of its strength, nourishing her entire body.

“There now,” Alix said. “You and I and everything else in this world, we are bound to the earth. She holds us up, she feeds us, she clothes us, everything we are comes from her. And she will take what you cannot use and turn it into food for the plants. Your trash, your waste, and one day your flesh, she will convert it all into earth itself and feed it to the green world around you. _This_ is what I mean by grounded, Sarah. And if you meet hostile magic, or magic too strong for you, she will take that as well. You need only reach out to her.”

As she spoke, Sarah was trying to dissociate herself from the tree, to find that connection in herself – and stop feeling as though she had branches instead of arms. “Wow,” was all she could manage to say.

Alix laughed gently. “That is an appropriate reaction. I’m pulling back my magic now. See if you can still touch the earth.”

That taste – as if she’d plucked a fresh new leaf and bitten into it – faded, along with the keen awareness that was like sharing her soul with the trees. Sarah was herself again, the key warm against her throat, and she could hear Neesk clambering around in the tree above them. She let go of Alix’s hands, and she  _had_ hands again, wasn’t surprised to find them leafless. 

Reassured, Sarah closed her eyes, took a breath, and reached for that other state of awareness again. She had to put her hands down, fallen leaves crunching slightly, but as soon as she physically touched the ground, she felt it again. The sun above, the earth below, supporting her effortlessly.

“Excellent,” Alix said cheerfully. “Any time you work magic, ground yourself first. Just like electricity, in a way. You want a way for any excess charge to run harmlessly off you.”

“I have a feeling that’s going to be useful,” Sarah said, and played with the connection a bit, trying to feel the earth without losing her sense of who and where she was.

After a few moments of that, during which Alix waited serenely, Sarah focused on the dryad again. “You said I’d have to learn to center and shield, too, right? But I’m already shielded.”

“You’re also the most centered person I’ve met, for having no prior training,” Alix added. “Being centered is just being in the core of yourself, completely secure in who you are, soul and mind and body balanced. There are other methods to learn it, besides magic. Did you ever do meditation or yoga?”

“Both, in college,” Sarah said. “I needed the stress relief. I couldn’t get into the whole New Age culture, but the meditation especially was useful. As for knowing who I am, well, it’s a little odd. When I was younger, I wanted to be an actress like my mother. I spent a lot of time training to be someone else.”

“I’ve known some actors and performance artists who have no sense of self,” Alix replied thoughtfully. “They seemed to be lost in their roles, turning themselves into chameleons, never knowing their own true colors. But most are fairly centered people, as if they learned who they are by learning who they aren’t. As for you, Sarah, there’s a core of steel in you. Just because you know how to be someone else, very convincingly, doesn’t mean you’ve forgotten who you are. In fact I imagine you taught yourself to center largely to maintain your identity despite the acting you wanted to do, and the acting that life forces you to do.”

Sarah gave a rueful little chuckle. “Yeah, that’s true. I really hate having to play nice to the faces of people I  _know_ are abusing or neglecting their kids. But it doesn’t get the case processed any faster, or help the kids at all, if I tell them what scumbags they are. So I pretend to be on their side, and they tell me more because I’m helpful. I always feel dirty, until I can bring the hammer down on them.”

Alix cocked her head at that. “I hadn’t considered your line of work. It must be terribly exhausting. Are there truly so many children in such dire situations?”

“There’s too many, but that’s not the whole of my job. Sometimes the kids are fine, but it’s still ugly; divorce cases, usually. One parent will say the other abuses the child, just to get custody, and then we have to investigate. Especially if they say molestation is happening, we have to do a physical investigation, which means the child has to go to the hospital, be sedated, and be examined inside and out by a physician for signs of sexual abuse. Even if the parent admits they were lying, once that accusation is made, we _have_ to take it seriously. Which sucks for everyone, but especially the child.”

She shook herself slightly. “A lot of times it’s just minor stuff, though. Sometimes it’s a busybody neighbor trying to cause trouble, and you can tell in five minutes that the kids are fine. Sometimes there are families that are having issues, but they genuinely want to do the right thing. Sometimes it’s just that they need services, like addiction recovery or mental health or even something like food stamps, and I get called in to help with that and also make sure the kids are handling it okay. Most people are pretty decent, and I’m lucky enough that I still get to see that, even after seeing the worst stuff.”

“Good. It’s usually different, for fae. Few of us have children without wanting them, or fail to treasure our children. There are some who are terrors – and some, like my kind, who aren’t properly parents at all.” 

Sarah tilted her head curiously. “Jareth told me about fae not being able to have children easily. But what do you mean about dryads not being parents? What were your parents like?”

Alix chuckled. “I don’t know. I don’t remember. Dryads can live a very long time, like most fae, but we haven’t got the best memories, usually. I can tell you all about the coldest winter of my life, when my tree lost half its branches to the weight of snow, but I can’t tell you what year that was. Or how many years were between that and the summer where our grove was almost touched by a wildfire. I’m fairly certain the winter was earlier, and that’s it.” She shrugged. “Most fae children are precocious, and we even more so. I’ve been told that newborn dryads can walk within a day, and I believe it. My kind would not make for the most attentive mothers. And I remember seeing young dryads choosing their trees from among their mother’s grove, so I must’ve done the same when I was small, but I don’t remember that.”

Sarah shook her head slightly. “I can’t imagine not remembering anything about my childhood.”

Alix leaned back, propping herself on her hands. “I can’t imagine being as helpless as your human babies are. Such fragile little things.”

“You’re different now,” Sarah pointed out. “You’re obviously very intelligent, and you don’t forget things. What changed?”

“I was exiled. Outside the safety of my grove, I had to adapt or die,” Alix replied, and shut down that line of questioning by standing up and dusting off her hands. “I think for your next lesson we ought to start actually manipulating power. Can you come to the club in the evening? I’ll let you into my power source and show you how to draw from it. And how to work with it, more subtly than explosions.”

“Sure,” Sarah replied. As she stood up, Neesk bounced down to land on her shoulder again, and she petted him. Alix stepped toward the willow’s branches, which moved aside for her again, one of them trailing its slender leafy length across her arm. 

That gave Sarah pause. She’d said her name came from the willow’s scientific name. “Alix … this isn’t your tree, is it?”

The dryad burst out laughing. “Forgive me, Sarah,” she replied, through good-natured chuckles. “I do like you, but  _no one_ knows where my tree is. And I make certain it’s very well-guarded, by a force who are inherently loyal.”

“Perfectly understandable,” Sarah replied. It had been a momentary thought; she wouldn’t have quite believed that anyone as cautious and cagey as Alix kept her tree in the center of the city. “But how do you keep it guarded without anyone knowing where it is?”

Alix smiled. “Because the guards don’t know which of the trees they’re protecting is mine. They guard a piece of land, and it’s in their best interest, too, since I let them live there. Not all fae are suited to the urban life. And of those unsuitable, some are quite unable to even function in the city.”

“I should’ve known you’d have it all planned out,” Sarah replied, with a little smile.

“I have to,” Alix said with a shrug. “New York’s urban fae community is a chess game with bloodshed always an option. And in terms of combat, dryads are one of the weaker fae races. We do not have offensive magic, or great strength, or any native talents useful in battle. To keep my place in the game, and protect my people, I  _ must _ play five steps ahead of everyone else.”

Sarah winced. “And here I am, just your average human, who basically tripped over her own feet and landed on a crown.”

“No, I rather think you landed on a king,” Alix replied with a smirk.

“That’s not fair,” Sarah protested, blushing a bit. She was acutely conscious of Neesk on her shoulder, trying not to say anything very untoward in front of him. She’d never found out just how old he was. “You have no idea how complicated it all was. I got a book from my mom for my birthday one year, my little brother was a huge pain, and  _ bam _ , suddenly I’m the Goblin King’s true love. Which neither of us took seriously at first, but then it happened.”

Alix’s perplexed look led to Sarah giving a heavy sigh, and telling her the condensed version of their story – skipping the content of those damned dreams, just saying that they’d seen each other. To her surprise, Neesk interjected, “An’ then she came back, and made us all go ‘splodey, but this time she didn’t knocks down the city.”

She stared at him a moment, and asked, startled, “Neesk, were you there the first time?”

“Yep!” he said happily. “An’ when yous came back, I was first one to bites you. But kingy sez is okay now, ‘cuz you sploded us, so fair’s fair.”

“And you lectured me about behaving,” Alix said, with a chuckle.

“Is different!” Neesk protested. “Her royalestness wuz a runner and we’s s’posed to fight runners, but she’s queeny now so no biting, only pertecting.”

Sarah sighed and leaned her head against him gently. “I can’t be mad at you. You were only doing your job, like him.”

“I does better job now,” Neesk said proudly. “Bestest royal page ever.”

“That you are,” Sarah replied, petting him again. She turned to Alix again. “Anyway, I feel pretty entitled, sitting here with literally more power than I know what to do with. I understand why he wants me crowned separately from him, before anything else. If I took his ring and the crown together, everyone would think I earned it on my back.” A pause, and she admitted despite how it galled, “There may be a little truth to that, even. Not that I slept with him  _ for _ a crown, but that I got a crown because I’m sleeping with him.”

“My troubles are not your fault,” Alix reassured. “As for how you came to your crown, you are the Labyrinth’s Champion first. Anyone with sense will think he seduced you to maintain his own crown. All know that Umardelin cannot be ruled by force alone, so the kingdom had to accept you. There will be still be some who think you bedded your way to your position, but you can hang them for it, if you choose.”

Sarah gave a short laugh. “Yeah, no. Maybe if anyone talks shit about me, I’ll sentence them to scrub the privies for a month or something. Poetic justice, no capital punishment. Jareth would just bog them.” Neesk gave a wicked little chitter at the thought.

The look Alix turned on her was cynical. “Do not trust an enemy to clean your privies. Assassinations have been accomplished by climbing up them from the inside, and stabbing the unfortunate target in vulnerable regions. Which is to say, I see your point, Sarah. Idealism and reality have a difficult time meeting on even ground.”

Sarah sighed. “I’ll cross that bridge when I come to it.  _ If _ I even get to them first. God knows what Jareth will do. We do have oubliettes with skeletons in them.”

“The problem of justice is one with which I’ve concerned myself, also,” Alix replied. “For now it is sufficient to remove my protection from anyone who betrays me. I have a reputation in this city, and if I turn someone out, no one else will have them.”

“What do you do with outsiders, though?” Sarah asked, genuinely interested. “I mean, you don’t have a Bog of Stench in your backyard, and you said you’re not a warrior.”

“A handful of my people are good enough fighters, but we prefer to use more subtle methods.” Alix grinned. “I have nearly all the dryad and dryad-like races in the region allied to me. If someone truly offends us, we settle upon them the Curse of Wood. Any tree or woody shrub or object made of the same, turns more and more hostile by degrees to the person so afflicted. Which sounds harmless, in this modern age, until you realize that paper is made of wood pulp.”

“Oh, that’s nasty,” Sarah said, imagining endless paper cuts.

“The first time we used it, we were laughed at. When every tree he passed dropped a dead branch on his head, the fancy wood-grain dashboard of his car splintered and cut his arm, every door caught his fingers and every threshold tripped him, even tables slid into his path so he barked his shins, he demanded we take it off. I held out for an apology. Papers in the street invariably blew up to surround his head when he walked, particularly if they’d been used as sanitary tissue by homeless people. The handle of a knife broke while he used it and he nearly lopped off his own finger.”

Sarah couldn’t help laughing. “Oh, damn! I bet the bastard apologized eventually.”

Alix smiled cruelly. “Spring began, and he found himself violently allergic to pollen. Every dogwood and crape myrtle in the city obliged by shaking their branches as he walked by, until he looked powdered. He came crawling to me for forgiveness, and I finally rescinded the curse. Of course, he hates me now, but they all know we have more patience than they, and will not hesitate to use our power if provoked.  _ Only _ if provoked, however.”

“I like the way you run things,” Sarah said, offhandedly, and Alix gave her a slight bow of gratitude.

They meandered back to the paths, talking lightly, Neesk hanging onto Sarah’s shirt for balance. “So when should we meet up again?” Sarah asked.

“As soon as you’ve got time in the evening, I’d like you to come by the club,” Alix said. “We can start working on manipulating energy in a well-protected environment. And I think we ought to start, officially, with elemental magic. If you have an affinity for a particular element, working with it be much easier, and there are a decent number of practical uses for elemental magic.”

“Sounds like fun,” Sarah opined.

Alix gave her another shrewd look. “My own strength is earth magic, and Colleen of course is proficient with water. I’ve got people who know fire and air, as well, so we can test you with all of them.”

“Thank you again, Alix,” Sarah said. “I lucked out, meeting you.”

“I think we were both in luck,” Alix replied with a genuine smile, and they parted ways.

 

 

 


	25. Strangeness and Charm

The next day, Sarah rehearsed the coronation ceremony. In the end, the most satisfactory solution, they had decided, was to have four goblins carry the crown to her, and then Sarah herself would place it on her own head. To that end, Jareth had chosen the four most reliable goblins he could find, that were also of a similar height and build. They were all nervous about carrying the crown, even though they were using what Sarah insisted on calling the ‘stunt crown’ for rehearsals, carved out of wood and weighted with lead shot to equal the real thing.

“Enough,” Jareth said, when they’d dropped it at the steps twice. “Snargle, Lotacem, if you cannot walk backwards, you must turn around and hold the cushion behind your backs, like so.” He arranged them again, and this time they made it up the steps to the dais without incident, though he had to call the other two sharply to order for walking too fast and almost over-setting the crown as they overtook the front pair.

“Watch it!” the one called Snargle growled, and one of the ones in back hissed at him. Lotacem looked over her shoulder and chattered her teeth, and only Jareth whacking his swagger stick against his boot prevented a brawl.

“You _will_ work together,” he said thunderously, and all four of them quailed – but not much. No goblin’s spirit was ever suppressed for long, and on the next attempt the two in back walked so slowly that Snargle and Lotacem snatched the cushion from their hands. The crown bounced down the steps, taking out one goblin, and Lotacem collapsed in infectious giggles. Not even Jareth could snap at her, even when the crown spun to a halt at his feet.

Meanwhile Sarah was taking a long look at the goblin Lotacem. She was a spindly little thing, but bright-eyed and cheerful, which given what Sarah knew of her history was nothing short of a miracle. Umardelin had been good to Lotacem, which eased Sarah’s heart in wondering about the other goblins’ pasts. At fifteen, her baby brother getting turned into a goblin was the worst thing she could imagine, but for some it was a blessing.

Not that she was going to just let Jareth _win_ anytime soon, at least not easily. 

By the twelfth repetition, they got through it without a stumble, and Sarah managed to keep the crown perfectly level as she set it atop her head. Jareth nodded smartly, and told them, “Good enough, you’ve all earned a break.”

The goblins scampered off to the kitchens for snacks, and Sarah flopped down into the throne. Her mind had gone on auto-pilot after about the seventh go-through and her feet were killing her. And this was only the substitute crown. This was starting to feel like the worst of her L.A. year. Cattle-calls, fifteen auditions a day. All of the details were making the thought of being crowned a little less glamorous. “If I’d known how much of a pain in the ass this would be, I’d’ve refused to be queen,” she grumbled, leaning back with a sigh. “How did you talk me into this, again?”

“Hush, you,” Jareth said, approaching her. He dropped to one knee before the throne, looking up at Sarah with both concern and reproach. “Do not say such a thing, lest Umardelin hear you and take offense. If I, who was raised with the expectation of inheriting Etaron, could learn to love this fierce and untamed kingdom, then you who so loved gowns and tiaras with never a chance of wearing them for real can do so also.”

That had her biting her lower lip, her conscience pricking her. Tired and worn as she felt, the man really did have a point. She really did need to resist idle comments. “I would hope that she would know that, at this point, I didn’t really mean it,” she protested, wincing.

“Then you ought to know by now to be very careful to use only your right words,” he scolded, reaching out to take hold of her chin and shake it gently. “You _are_ Champion, and Queen. Not because you love me, nor because I love you, but because you love Umardelin and won her by your own merit. This ceremony is only a formality, Sarah. Yes, formalities _are_ a pain in the arse, but they must be borne. Unless you wish to introduce that dreadful state of affairs called _democracy_ , and then lower yourself to _campaign_ for office.”

Sarah kicked him – lightly – in the shoulder for mocking her. Jareth only smirked, and she sighed. “You’re right. I just … this whole week has been crazy, and I keep feeling a little like I’ve wandered into a play where I don’t know any of the lines. I  _wasn’t_ born to royalty, Jareth. I’m just a girl from Haverstraw.”

“You were a girl from Haverstraw, but since then you have become many things, one of which is a woman whose fortitude and courage I admire,” Jareth pointed out. And then grinned. “If you feel outnumbered, love, why not invite your brother to the coronation?”

For a long moment, she could only blink at him. “Toby? You want me to bring  _Toby_ down here?” 

“Of course, Toby. How many brothers have you?” Jareth said. “You would feel less alone, having someone of similar background at your side. And he has already met me, and knows the truth, so there can be no harm.”

“Have you even _thought_ about the logistics of what you just said?” Sarah scoffed. “This is the Underground. Home to nearly everything that we believe up there to be stories. Yes, he handled your glittery reveal pretty well, and he’s more or less okay with his sister shacking up with the Goblin King, but _you’re_ the only thing he’s experienced of down here.” That had her worrying a loose wave, unconsciously curling it around her pointer finger. The worry for her little brother’s safety trumped any frustration. Still, it was tempting. “He’s never seen anything other than you and the goblins, Jareth, and at a year old. Even his memory of that is pretty fuzzy; it’s been enough to spark inspiration on his artwork, but that’s it. He was here in the castle, remember, not out there like I was. I don’t want to risk him losing his mind down here.”

“Toby will suffer no ill effects,” he said breezily, as if he could hand-wave that into truth by willing it so. Which, she knew, was just a smidge beyond his powers.

Sarah frowned. “We can’t know that until we try it and then what? Is there a way to repair a broken human mind after the fact that I don’t know about? Remember, I know what the Fireys are now. And I know why you didn’t try to bring me down here for so long, until we didn’t have a choice anymore. I should have been far beyond the age to survive it; you mentioned once that I was too old to even be a goblin. I don’t want Toby losing his head, dammit.”

Jareth rolled his eyes. “Yes, I did fear for you when you returned. But there is quite a difference between a woman of nine-and-twenty determined to cut all the magic out of her life, and a boy of fifteen who has been here before and grew up on tales of the place.”

That had her smirking at him, one brow arched. “Ah, so you  _do_ understand the difference in ages.” 

“And you _do_ know that within the last century in your own country, girls of fifteen were commonly married with a child on the way,” he shot back. “Do not dissemble, my Sarah. We are speaking of Toby, and fae madness. He will _not_ go mad here, I would wager my own skin on that. The Fireys lost themselves as runners. There are a good many humans in the fae realms. You’ve met my head housekeeper, Marlene. Does she seem mad to you?”

Sarah couldn’t stifle a bark of laughter. “She bought Beldych that apron, but yeah. I get the point. If you’re  _sure_ … I’ll think about bringing him down to the park for a few minutes, to see how he takes it. If he even wants to come.”

Jareth eyed her wearily. “To stand beside his sister as she is crowned? I should think Toby would volunteer for the fires of hell itself.”

Sarah groaned again. Speaking of Toby and volunteering… “Yeah, well, since he’s become your favorite brother-in-law-to-be, I ought to share a little tidbit the boy genius let slip. He let our parents know that I have a boyfriend, so now my stepmom is inviting you to dinner,” she informed him.

“I’d be delighted,” he said, too quickly for her peace of mind.

That had her looking at him with what she was sure was the most comical stunned expression. Oh, come on. Why not make things even more complicated? Sarah sighed, running an anxious hand through her hand. “Oh, Jareth. Come on, I don’t even know how we’re going to do this. Look, I know you faked normal well enough for my coworkers, but you have to keep all the fae stuff  _seriously_ under wraps for my parents. There’s no way to even  _try_ introducing anything fantastic there,” she reminded him.

“It will be an interesting challenge, which we knew must be overcome sooner or later,” Jareth said. “And if you’ve quite done with _inventing_ trouble, Sarah mine, there is something I must tell you.”

She took a deep breath. “Oh, God.  _Now_ what?”

Jareth grinned with all the wicked fae humor in his soul, and said in purring tones, “When I pictured the two of us and this throne, I rather thought it would be  _you_ on your knees, precious.”

And, just like that, they were back on familiar ground. Sarah kicked him lightly in the chest for that implication. “Jerk,” she grumbled, but she was grinning. “And I may take it under advisement once you put down a cushion – cold marble, even the magic fae kind, is hardly comfortable.” If he was very,  _very_ lucky, she might oblige him. Someday. When he’d been particularly kingly and she felt like it. 

“There’s no need for violence,” he reproached. “Did I in any way indicate that I object to kneeling before you, my queen?” So saying, he kissed her knee, looking up at her with heat in his mismatched gaze.

“Enough of that, you two,” Thiel said sharply, striding into the room. Jareth growled and glared at his father, while Sarah squeaked, straightening to smooth out her skirt. She could feel her cheeks burning. The King of Etaron ignored both reactions with perfect equanimity. “You can turn the throne room into your personal love grotto once we’ve gotten Sarah crowned. _Until_ then, get out. While you’re taking a break from rehearsals, someone’s got to plan the rest of the arrangements.”

“I do so love being ordered about in my own kingdom,” Jareth grumbled.

“I taught you how to aim when using the privy,” Thiel shot back. He gave a deep bow, ending with a flourish, as he continued, “Forgive me for not showing the proper deference, Your Majesty.”

There was no possible comeback for that, and Jareth was left simply to glower as he got up. Sarah was laughing too hard to rise from the throne, for a moment, but mastered her giggles at last. “You gotta admit, he won that round,” she said with a mischievous light in her eyes, linking her arm through Jareth’s.

“Unfortunately parents _do_ seem to always have the last word,” Jareth sighed. “It will be a delight to ship you both home after this is over.”

“The duke keeping my court will be delighted as well,” Thiel replied, seeing them both to the door. “His messages are growing frantic.”

“I’d wondered how that worked,” Sarah admitted. “How do you manage things when both royals are out of the kingdom?”

Thiel gave her a thoughtful smile. “I have a cousin who is fairly decent at managing his estates. Running a kingdom is simply a larger scale. Yet I can trust that he has no desire for my crown, for he finds it all dreadfully boring. A dukedom, managed by his capable wife, is enough for him to hunt and drink and entertain to his heart’s content, and do as little actual ruling as possible.”

“Maybe it’s the wife you should worry about,” Sarah mused.

Thiel grinned. “She, wisely, is too afraid of my beloved Della to make any moves in that direction. I’m sure you know not to let her sweet nature fool you – Della is as much a bird of prey as our son. She doesn’t mind getting her talons bloody, if the cause is righteous.”

“I’d guessed as much,” Sarah replied, and then he was shooing both of them out the doors. Well, it looked as though another five rounds of practice were to be put off for a while. With all of the other chaos going on in her world, vacation or not, she decided now would be time to start the ball rolling with her family. Better now that later. Snickering, Sarah looked at Jareth, and shrugged. “I suppose I’ll take that as my cue to go Above and return phone calls,” she sighed. “Life doesn’t stop just because you’re scheduled to be a faerie queen.”

“Must you, Sarah?” he asked, mismatched eyes rueful.

Just his tone had her smiling again, taking a moment to lean against his shoulder affectionately. Like it or not, just the way he said her name made it impossible not to love him, even if he was being a condescending ass. Which he currently wasn’t, thank God. Jareth slipped his arm around her, holding her close. “Yes, I must, Your Majesty. I’ve got to arrange dinner with my parents, and if you’re serious about inviting Toby to the coronation, I need to bring him down.”

“I am quite serious,” Jareth said. “I have rather much to make up for in Toby’s eyes, and I’m practical enough to let Umardelin do most of the convincing for me.”

And, there he was, right on cue as usual. “Ass,” Sarah muttered, elbowing him. “If we really want to try this now, I need to start making plans for it. It’s almost the weekend Above, I’m sure our parents will let him come down to the city to see me.” The wince happened before she could stop herself, thinking on it again. How on earth was she even going to survive this? “Especially if I agree to bring you to Sunday dinner when he comes back.”

“Then it is all arranged,” Jareth said. He kissed her temple, and added, “Go then, and make whatever calls must be made. I shall await your return.”

“You’d better, Goblin King,” she teased, pulling away, but tossing over her shoulder, “Or the distraction will pay for it. Love you.”

With that, she headed for her rooms, to make the transition via mirror, but Della met her on the stairs. Sarah’s mind lost to her errands, she started at the sound of the older woman’s voice. “Did you say you were going Above?” she asked hopefully.

With a sigh, Sarah rubbed her brow. It wasn’t the first time Jareth’s mother had implied that she would like to go; the thing was that Sarah knew too well the kind of havoc it could cause. This wasn’t like taking a small-town cousin to the city. It was much more like bringing a pocket supernova in human form. A pocket supernova that would likely disrupt everything in hundred-mile radius. There was no telling what the fallout would be. But she had implied back that she would and she had reason to believe that the older fae knew the risks as well. “Okay, look, we need to make this clear now. Della, I see what you’re doing here. I’m taking you Above because you asked politely, and I don’t mind. _Not_ because you finagled me into doing it, all right? Manipulation works great on most people, but I’m too well-versed in it and too damn stubborn.”

Della gave her an apologetic curtsy. “I am sorry, Sarah. I have wanted so much to see the world Above again. It makes me greedy … and I am not accustomed to waiting on another’s schedule. I hope you will forgive me.”

She couldn’t help but smile back at that as she returned the gesture. Charm was something that this family had far,  _far_ too much of. Best to stay on her guard and hold to her stubbornness if she didn’t want to be completely run over as time went on. “Of course, Della, I did promise I would, didn’t I?” Sarah said. “But weren’t you the one who decided that you were supposed to be helping Thiel with the arrangements?”

“Let Jareth assist him for the day,” Della said with a charming smile. “I do need to pick up a gift for my soon-to-be daughter-in-law’s coronation, don’t I? And it’s always refreshing to have the company of another woman, when one spends one’s days surrounded by men.”

Sarah yielded at that with a laugh, shaking her head. Yep, far too much charm in this family. “Fine, then, come on. You’ll have to borrow some of my clothes, which I hope will work. Because that is not going to work up there. Renaissance gowns draw too much attention, even in New York.”

Della practically skipped with joy, and kissed Sarah’s cheek. “Thank you ever so much, darling. I promise it will only be a short while, and I will keep myself well-glamoured.”

Sarah lead her to her rooms, and they stepped through the mirror together. Even as Della blinked at the artificial light, Sarah said, “Take a look in my closet, see what suits you. I’ve got to call my brother, first.”

 

…

 

Toby dove for his phone when it rang, his friends raising their eyebrows at him. “It’s my sister,” he said, recognizing her ring tone. “Hey, Sare.”

“Hey, Tobe,” she replied. “What’s up?”

“Lunch break,” he told her. “Look, I’m sorry I told Mom about your boyfriend.”

“It’s fine,” she told him, while Rafe and Laquanda both looked up interestedly. 

“Hotsauce has a new boyfriend?” Rafe said, pulling an exaggerated look of despair. “My heart is shattered.”

“Shut up,” Toby snapped, flushing. “I’m gonna go take this in the hall, if you have to act like that.”

Meanwhile Sarah was chuckling in his ear. “Did he call me  _Hotsauce_ ?”

“He’s a moron,” Toby replied shortly, heading out of the lunchroom. His school was rather _laissez faire_ about hallway privileges, though they were strict on attendance and grades. “Seriously, though. It just slipped out. I’m sorry.”

“And I said it’s fine,” she repeated. “Really, Tobe. They were gonna find out sooner or later. And it’s the least of my worries this week.”

“What’s going on? Trouble in fae town?” he asked, worried now.

Sarah snorted laughter at that. “No, I … I’m gonna be crowned queen in a few days. And Jareth wants to invite you.”

For a moment, he could only blink. Then he squeaked out, watching warily for anyone who might overhear him. “ _Queen_ ? Already?! I thought that wasn’t gonna be for a while! Thanks for the warning, Sarah!”

“Calm down, Tobe. You’re getting ‘queen’ and ‘wife’ mixed up. And yeah, well, I didn’t think it would happen this fast either, but he wants me crowned ASAP so people don’t think I earned my title on my back,” Sarah retorted.

“Eww, don’t tell me crap like that,” Toby replied immediately. 

“You were pitching a hissy fit,” she replied. “Anyway, do you want to come to the coronation? You can’t tell Mom and Dad where you’re really going, but I figure they’ll let you come down for the weekend. And I’ll sweeten the deal by bringing Mr. Kingsley to Sunday dinner, if Karen’s okay with that.”

“Dude, she’s gonna give him the third degree,” Toby warned. “And hell yes, I want to see my giant boogerhead of a sister get crowned queen, are you kidding me? I’ll ask Mom tonight.”

“You haven’t called me a giant boogerhead in years,” Sarah remarked.

“You started sleeping with the Goblin King, y’know, the guy who stole me as a baby,” Toby shot back. He wasn’t _really_ mad at her for it, since Jareth had proven to be at least somewhat sensible about the fact that Toby would hunt him down and kill him if he hurt her. But it wouldn’t do to let Sarah think he actually approved of this. “That’s clearly boogerhead behavior on a giant scale.”

She blew a raspberry at him, and he grinned. Sarah was so often serious that he counted it a personal victory to make her behave like a kid, even if her default was brattiness. “Real mature, big sis,” he needled her. “Anyway, lunch is almost over and I gotta get back before Laquanda eats all my tater tots. When are you gonna talk to Mom?”

“Right now,” she said. “I wanted to tell you first. You’re sure you’re okay with this? Coming Underground and all? I want to bring you down for a short visit first, make sure you can handle it. Normal people can go crazy, Underground.”

“Apparently I handled it fine when I was still in diapers,” he told her, though he was privately a little nervous. Her tone sounded like an understatement. “Just … do I have to worry about not eating or drinking anything?”

“No, not when you’re invited,” she replied. “Seriously, Toby. It’s _magic_. That’s not easy for a rational twenty-first century brain to handle.”

“You’re handling it,” he reminded her. “And you’re the most rational person I know, these days anyway.” She muttered something under her breath, and Toby glanced up at the clock. “I have to go. I’ll see you soon, Queen Boogerhead.”

“I love you too, brat-boy,” Sarah replied affectionately.

He hung up, and stared at his phone.  _I’m going to the goblin kingdom, to watch my sister get crowned queen,_ Toby thought, and it didn’t sound any less ridiculous. 

Or any less amazing. He’d have to bring his sketchbook; any self-respecting fairy realm ought to be  _loaded_ with inspiration.

 

…

 

Karen was all too happy to let Toby come up for the weekend, with the added bonus of meeting Sarah’s ‘new beau’ on Sunday. Sarah extricated herself from the ensuing debate on what to serve, and the worries over how much cleaning needed to be done in the already-tidy house, with a little guilt. There were damn good reasons why she couldn’t tell them the truth – Robert might think it was a flight of fancy, but Karen would surely have her committed – and still she felt a certain slinking uneasiness at lying to them both.  _I’m telling them as much of the truth as I safely can,_ she told herself, hoping time would make it stick.

She sighed, and turned toward her bedroom … where Della was just stepping out, having found one of Sarah’s dresses in a dark blue that suited her complexion nicely. She’d kept the boots she’d been wearing, in dark gray leather, and seeing Sarah’s glance added in arch tones, “I have no intention of subjecting my feet to  _your_ shoes, Sarah. I’ve no idea how you manage in some of those heels. Boots are different; I can run and fight in boots, if need be. Some of those look as if they’d turn your ankle the moment you took a step.”

“I don’t wear them much either,” Sarah admitted, “just on dates. Guys like a girl in heels.”

Della only scoffed. “If a man is looking at my feet, I’m doing  _somethin_ g wrong. Well, shall we? Lead on, my dear. I’ve only heard rumors of New York, and you live here.”

This excursion was beginning to sound fun, and Sarah smiled. “I know just the place,” she said confidently, and with Della happily following – and marveling at the sights – she headed out to catch a cab. Breakfast first, and then if Della wanted shopping, she’d get the best damn shopping in the city.

 


	26. A Storm in Manhattan

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The infamous and much-awaited shopping trip...

Fifth Avenue was a wonder to Della, so Sarah gave up and let herself be led into every shop that caught the fae woman’s eye. So far she hadn’t bought too much, despite admiring clothes in Elie Tahari, perfumes in Sephora, jackets in Karen Millen, and more clothes in Aritzia and Michael Kors. Sarah thought they might get away with just the three dresses Della had chosen, the coat, and the one perfume she couldn’t live without.

Then they came to Saks, and Cartier Saks, and Sarah saw the gleam of jewels in Della’s eyes. Owl though she might be, she was as drawn to shiny baubles as any magpie. Something about Della told the jewelry salespeople that she had money to spend, and they flocked to show her whatever pieces she expressed an interest in. Sarah stayed by the door, happily ignored.

Until someone grabbed her elbow and yanked her aside. “Are you insane?” Alix hissed at her. “Do you even know who you’ve brought to my city?”

“Cadelinyth, Queen of Etaron,” Sarah answered in the same hushed voice. “Relax, Alix. She just wanted to shop, we’re keeping a low profile.”

“That is the daughter of the sorceress of Astolwyr,” Alix ground out. “There is no such thing as ‘low profile’ when you have her traipsing around Saks Fifth Avenue!”

Sarah glanced around, and whispered, “Look, we’re not here to cause trouble. She hasn’t had a chance to get Above and do any shopping in decades. I’m not going to tell anyone she’s here, and she hid her power before we showed up.”

Anything Alix might’ve said in response was cut off by Della’s voice. “You must be Alix. Pleased to meet you,” she said, offering her hand and a brilliant smile. Sarah noticed she’d picked up a pair of earrings that probably cost what she made in a month, and then Della turned that smile on her as well. “Incidentally, Sarah, speaking the full name of any of the fae can summon us.”

Alix glared at them both, pointedly ignoring the proffered hand. “You’re going to cause havoc,” she muttered.

“I’ll try not to,” Della replied gently. “Come with us. You can make sure I don’t get into too much trouble. We were planning on lunch at Ai Fiori, which you’re welcome to join us for. I’ll buy.”

“I won’t have your charity,” Alix snapped, “but I might as well keep an eye on you both.” On that sour note, they all headed out. The dryad’s shoulders were tense, and she glowered at the foot traffic around them. 

“I appreciate having the guidance of someone much better versed in these lands than I am,” Della said. For some reason, that only made Alix clench her jaw tighter.

As they strolled up Fifth Avenue, Della’s gaze roved over the storefronts, looking for another shop to explore. And Sarah groaned as she saw what caught the Queen of Etaron’s eye. Only one store on Fifth Avenue had its windows draped in pale pink crepe paper. “Whatever is that?” she asked.

“Something that’ll definitely get a rise out of Thiel,” Sarah admitted, and winced when she realized her pun. Della crossed the street, weaving between slower pedestrians as naturally as any lifelong New Yorker, and quickened her pace.

Alix dropped her face into her palm as she and Sarah followed. “Are you seriously going to take a five-hundred-year-old fae queen into  _Victoria’s Secret_ ?!” she hissed.

“Hey, she wants to shock her husband, this is the place to do it,” Sarah muttered back.

Up ahead, Della’s silvery laugh rang out, making several passersby smile. She’d obviously gotten a look in the front windows, and realized what sort of shop it was.

 

…

 

If the animosity between Alix and Della wasn’t awkward enough, helping her pick out lingerie was. She wanted Sarah’s opinion, not quite trusting the dressing room mirrors, and this wasn’t a view of her lover’s mother that Sarah had expected to deal with.

Not that she was any kind of prude. Sarah had her own collection of tempting underthings, few of which Jareth had yet seen outside of dreams. But Della was, quite frankly,  _disgustingly_ beautiful, and every damn thing she picked out looked good on her. Her charm and charisma were in full flower, as the saleswomen fawned over her. “Your friend has such a good eye for color,” one of the women gushed to Sarah.

“Nah, that’s my mother-in-law,” she said laconically, watching the woman’s eyes widen.

“Good grief, unless you’re marrying a five year old, I _really_ need to know her beauty routine,” the saleswoman said.

Della kept inviting Alix’s participation, despite her reluctance. At least she didn’t summon the urban fae into the dressing room to get her opinion, the way she did Sarah. “Tell me, Alix,” she said lightly, holding up a froth of lace and satin she’d just plucked from the rack. “Do you think I should get the blue, or the black?”

Alix wasn’t looking at her; in fact, Sarah realized the dryad had parked herself in a corner, staring at the ceiling, the entire time. “Not as if it matters,” she replied, her voice clipped. “Anything you wear will look good on you.”

“Yes, but I’m trying to decide which looks best,” Della replied gently. “Blue to bring out my eyes, or black for the contrast?”

Alix only shrugged. “Buy both, why not? That’s what credit’s for.” And that, in the end, was what Della did.

Sarah, meanwhile, leaned down to whisper in Alix’s ear, “What’s wrong?”

The dryad turned toward her and growled, “You brought the Princess of Astolwyr, Queen of Etaron, Owl’s-Child, Sorceress’ Daughter, half a dozen godsdamned  _ballads_ about her, to my city! What  _isn’t_ wrong, Sarah?”

Sarah sighed. “It’s only for a few hours, and I’m watching her, Alix.”

“Like you could do a damned thing to stop her,” the dryad spat back. “You know damned well this is _stupid_ , and somehow she wheedled you into it. That’s what her kind _does_ , Sarah, they hang about looking gorgeous and let everyone give them what they want before they even have to ask!”

“What do you think she’s gonna do?” Sarah whispered, while Della paid for everything … and let herself be talked into some more perfume, as well. “Take over the place? _There’s nothing here she wants, Alix!_ She’s got a kingdom, her mom’s got a kingdom, her son’s got a kingdom – it’s like Oprah, everybody’s already got a kingdom. All she wants is lunch and lingerie, Alix.”

“I know damned well she doesn’t want to take over. I’ve lived here for sixty years, I’m not _stupid,_ Sarah Williams,” Alix snarled under her breath. “It’s not what she could do, it’s what she is. We urban fae are little, little fish, Sarah, and you brought a fucking _shark_ up here with you!”

That use of profanity – which was very rare among fae of any kind – let Sarah know just how upset Alix was. She tried to soothe her temper with a little humor. “Well, the shark had a bagel with lox for breakfast, and she’s planning champagne and caviar for lunch. I don’t think she’s going to have room for you.”

The look she got in response to that was utterly withering, despite the mirrored glasses. “I was not being literal,” Alix growled.

Della swept up to them then. “Sarah, the cashier wanted to know if a perfume sample would sweeten your daughter’s temper,” she said. Alix – who did look  _almost_ young enough to be Sarah’s child – ground her teeth. “I corrected her misunderstanding. But I confess, I’m curious, too. Alix, what _is_ the worst-case scenario you’re envisioning due to my presence?”

“I need a cigarette,” the dryad muttered, and stalked outside.

“Della, tone it down,” Sarah whispered. “She’s not normally like this.”

“No, of course not. I would’ve thought she’d loathe Jareth more, but he speaks well of her, and he would not have done so if she treated him likewise,” the fae queen mused. “We’ll see. I would rather her not hate me.”

They caught up as Alix took a deep drag off her clove. She turned to stare at Della. “Have you any idea what chaos you would cause, if I were seen with you?” Alix muttered angrily, smoke rising from her nostrils in dragonish plumes.

“Am I so disreputable Above? Surely I cannot do _that_ much damage to your reputation,” Della replied, keeping her voice amiable. Sarah could only watch, feeling a little sick to her stomach; she liked both fae women, and had hoped they would get along. 

So far, not so good.

Alix took off her glasses and polished them aggressively before slipping them back on to hide her eyes. “No. But being seen with you, as an ally or a servant, would force me to take actions that I do not yet want to set in motion.”

“We are being reasonably discreet,” Della tried to soothe. “My glamour ought to hide my power well enough.”

“But your _face_ is not hidden,” Alix spat. “And surely I am not the only one Above who has seen your portrait, _my lady_.”

Della glanced around to see if they were watched, then passed a hand over her face. Her hair was now an unremarkable brunette, and her lovely face seemed plainer. “Forgive me, Alix,” she said gently. “That was my error. I should have given the matter more forethought.”

“Yes. You should have,” Alix grumbled.

Sarah wanted badly to elbow the dryad and ask her again what the hell was wrong. Alix had always been incredibly politically savvy, always willing to make alliances and foster trust. Now she seemed bent on alienating or even angering Della, who was enough of a power to set all the urban fae in New York City on their ears. But asking that question just now might be the spark that set off a powderkeg, and she wanted to get through the day without any explosions.

They had Della’s purchases sent over to Sarah’s apartment, and since Ai Fiori was at the other end of Fifth Avenue, Della chose to get a cab. Sarah sat in the middle between the two fae, not wanting to imagine what would happen if they were too close. She had the impression that Alix would’ve liked to just ditch them both, but something held her there.

Ai Fiori was one of the finest restaurants around, and the prices showed it. Della tried to pay for them all, but Alix insisted on a separate ticket, radiating sullen misery. The food was amazing – Sarah had had caviar before, and never been particularly impressed. But with pastry and crème fraiche and a sprinkling of chives, it was divine. The lobster bisque with black truffles was just as stellar, and Della insisted that she try a bite of foie gras. Sarah had never had it before, though she knew what it was. To her surprise, it tasted nothing like liver – but that might’ve been the strawberries and balsamic.

Even Alix seemed to mellow a bit under the influence of food, though she was still uncharacteristically quiet. She did at least admit that the lobster with mushrooms was delicious. Della ordered something called a Royal Blush, which according to the menu included sparkling wine, lime, mint, cherry, and vodka. She ended up drinking three of them with no apparent effect, to their server’s amazement. Sarah stuck with cider, wanting to be as sober as possible. Alix skipped the alcohol for spring water.

Della kept up the conversation, asking them both about the city, and though Sarah’s answers were far more congenial, never once did the fae queen slight the dryad or stop trying to include her. Sarah was beginning to think that Della had the patience of a saint.

As they left, after a bill that made Sarah wince even though she wasn’t paying, she was proven wrong. At least the queen waited until they were on the sidewalk, and a little distance away from any other pedestrians. “So what exactly are these actions you don’t yet wish to take?” Della asked, as lightly as she’d asked about the weather.

The dryad’s shoulders stiffened. “I owe you  _nothing_ , Queen of Etaron. Certainly not such information.”

“Peace, cousin!” Della exclaimed, and for some reason that made Alix bare her teeth in fury. The older fae tried again to mollify her. “No, you owe me nothing. I ask out of interest, and you are free to answer or not, as you will. Please, forgive me if I’ve given offense.”

Sarah could  _hear_ Alix grinding her teeth. Her next words were clipped and harsh. “I have no reason to trust you, sorceress’ daughter. Or to forgive.”

“I understand,” Della said, very gently. And then, looking full into the dryad’s face, she asked, “What high fae woman tried to cut down your tree, Alix?”

Alix’s jaw clenched, and Sarah saw her knuckles go white. Every tree on the block swayed, as if in a high wind, though Sarah knew it was only Alix’s rage bleeding out along her primary power. That kind of unconscious, uncontrolled power was like nothing she’d seen from the dryad before, and it scared her – though not for herself. For a moment she believed Alix would actually lash out at Della physically, and then all hell would break loose. Calm as Della had been, she couldn’t ignore such an assault.

But the dryad controlled herself, only stepping forward and peering over those mirrored lenses, up into Della’s face. “Your Majesty. You spoilt, selfish bitch.  _Go. Fuck. Yourself._ ” With that, she spun on her heel and stalked off.

Della let out the breath she’d been holding. “That didn’t go as well as I’d hoped,” she said in mild tones.

“You think?” Sarah sighed. “Did you _have_ to bait her?”

“I didn’t mean to, until the last,” Della admitted. “I knew there could only be one reason why she hated me on sight, and I hoped by bringing it into the open we could get past it. I fear that whoever wounded her, did so more deeply than I’d guessed.”

Sarah raked a hand through her hair. “Dammit, Della. I  _like_ Alix. She’s never been anything but good to me. And yeah, everyone I know and everything I read tells me not to trust strange fae, but  _she knows that too._ She’s got a sense of humor about it.” She glowered at the queen, who had the grace to look chagrined. “I really, really hope she’s not pissed at me, too.”

“You’re not high fae, Sarah. It isn’t you who sets her blood to boil.” Della folded her arms, a worried look in her eyes. “We ought to get Underground. If she’s angry enough, she might decide come after me – and I promised not to start a war.”

“Furious or not, Alix isn’t that stupid,” Sarah replied, but they hurried back to her apartment, and the mirror that would take them quickly to the castle.

 

…

 

“Are you done terrorizing the shops of New York?” Jareth drawled, as Della enlisted the goblins’ aid in moving her parcels to her suite. Sarah was helping direct them. 

“For now,” she said. “Where is your father?”

“Hiding in the stable, I think,” Jareth replied. “I don’t think he appreciates the prospect of watching you model everything you bought.”

She and Sarah met each other’s gazes, and both laughed. There was enough in those pink boxes to rock Thiel’s world for months to come, and if he’d only known, he would’ve insisted on seeing them now. “His loss,” Della said. “Son, I have need of pen and parchment. There’s a letter I must compose.”

That piqued his curiosity. “Who are you writing to?”

“Sarah’s friend Alix. I offended her somehow, and would like to send a formal apology. If, Sarah, you will consent to deliver it.”

Wincing, she let out a sigh. “I guess. Does it have to be right now? I’d let her cool down first.”

“I do not like to let offenses simmer,” Della said. “If you please, Sarah? I hate to tax you with so much traveling back and forth, but I suspect she may take a written apology better than any I could’ve spoken.”

“What did you do?” Jareth asked, brows drawing together in consternation. “That dryad has more sense than half the nobles I’ve met. And _you_ of all people managed to nettle her? Everyone loves you, Mother.”

“Not that one,” Della replied. “For what it’s worth, I think it’s more what I am than anything I may have done. But I will not have her hate me, if I can avoid it. She’s been a good friend to Sarah.”

“And an ally worth cultivating,” Jareth replied.

Della smiled sadly. “And this is one more trait of mine you have, son: I respect her more, and want her good opinion more, because she told me off. Very few fae would dare call me a spoiled bitch to my face. Courage like that should be honored.”

 


	27. Salixia Obduron

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apologies for the delay – we were caught up the mess left by Hurricane Irma. Everyone in our families are safe, and there was no dire damage, but it’s still a headache. And not being able to sleep for like three days because of worry, or the sound of the wind roaring and flinging branches on your roof, didn’t help either. Not to mention our jobs – we both working in mailing and shipping. A lot of people had it worse, though, so we’re counting our blessings.
> 
> Anyway, without further ado, here’s the explanation for a few things from last chapter.

In the end, despite her misgivings, Sarah went back up while carrying a folded and wax-sealed envelope, the contents of which she hadn’t peeked at. All she could was hope was that Della turned out better at soothing ruffled feathers in print. So much for a relatively uneventful day out. Life amongst the fae and all that. She hadn’t planned on coming back Above until it was time to pick up Toby, but even coronation rehearsals were getting shuffled aside for this. There was no other choice, not with the balance shifted. Della took the offense she’d given, and the apology she owed,  _very_ seriously.

Imperiale wasn’t open for business yet, but the staff knew her. Yet this time, they seemed reluctant to let her in. “Alix is occupied,” Ojore said, frowning. He seemed to fill the doorway, and the scent of incense that clung to him was stronger than usual.

Sarah had known that it would not likely be a welcome she’d receive. With the way Alix had left, it wasn’t a surprise, but she’d been in more fraught situations than this seemed. Though the ante was always upped when their kind were involved. “I understand that, Ojore, but it’s important that I deliver this letter,” Sarah replied, looking up at the African fae. “I know Alix is angry, and I know why, but this is a formal apology. Please, may I take it to her? Or will you promise to deliver it for me? Please?”

He looked at her narrowly for a moment. Ojore often acted as Alix’s bodyguard, being taller, stronger, and more imposing than the slight dryad. His sense of honor was impeccable. Sarah knew if he promised to deliver the letter, it would be done … but he stepped aside. “She is downstairs, in Colleen’s office. Follow the singing, but take care that the merrow’s song does not draw you in as well.”

“Thank you, Ojore,” she said, acknowledging his allowance with a slight curtsy, as she felt was important in this formal task, nodding seriously as she turned to go. Well, _that_ sounded ominous. Sarah headed downstairs, and sure enough, she heard faint singing. It sounded like a lullaby … and even muffled by a door, she felt her eyelids try to slip closed as she listened. _That’s a damn good trick,_ she thought; Alix made the most of the so-called ‘smaller magics’ of the low fae.

When she found the right door, Sarah opened it gently, not wanting to disturb the singer. She only peeked in, ready with an apology for not knocking, if one was needed. The room itself took her breath away for a moment.

Somehow Alix had arranged a modern office designed for the particular needs of what looked, at first glance, like a stereotypical mermaid of myth. There was a large, deep pool of perfectly clear water, and right at the edge – though carefully raised away from any spills – was a desktop computer with three monitors.

The merrow herself had her elbows propped on one side of the pool, singing softly to Alix, who sat on the edge with her lower legs in the water. The dryad swayed a little in time to the music, her eyes closed; Sarah understood at once that she’d willingly surrendered to the merrow’s song, to calm herself after storming away from Della. Regret twisted in Sarah’s heart at that. She hated to see her friends so distressed, and she  _did_ now count Alix among them.

Colleen, the merrow, was from the waist up a lovely fair-skinned woman with white blonde hair, but beneath the water Sarah could see the body of a great, green-scaled fish. Her expression as she sang was full of sorrow, and an almost desperate desire to lighten it. As well as she had known the type of fae the other woman had to be, seeing it still had Sarah spellbound; even with the seriousness of their current dilemma, the young girl that had always sought the magic within the everyday world fought a swoon. A mermaid, here in New York City, amongst the grit and the grime. And not with an easy-out like there had been in  _Splash_ , she thought with the slightest of a grin. Even as Sarah regarded the merrow, Colleen finally noticed her and that little smile died.

The song cut off, and those mournful eyes turned cold. “ _You,_ ” she hissed, and slipped beneath the surface. One powerful flick of her tail brought her across the pool, and she surged out of the water at Sarah’s feet. Colleen’s voice betrayed an Irish brogue as her words grew more heated. “What did you  _do_ to her? I haven’t seen her this upset in years! If she hadn’t forbade it, I’d drag you in and half-drown you myself, for wounding her so!”

As much as the accusation stung, Sarah felt her chin rise.  _I’d like to see you try,_ was on the tip of Sarah’s tongue, her natural inclination to meet a threat with a challenge. But she forced herself to bite back the words. Colleen’s anger was righteous, if misplaced, and getting into a fight wouldn’t solve anything. “It wasn’t my intention to hurt her, Colleen, far from it. I had never even meant to involve Alix in the first place, neither Jareth or I,” she said, making her tone gentle by effort of will. “I came here to bring an apology.”

“You and your apology can get parched,” Colleen growled, her tail sweeping through the water angrily. Little wavelets slopped over the side, wetting Sarah’s shoes.

“It wasn’t her,” Alix said, in a sleepy mumble. The dryad rubbed at her eyes and yawned. “Easy, Colleen. Sarah meant no harm.”

The merrow snorted at them both, and dropped below the surface, circling the pool furiously. Alix only looked over at Sarah. Her outrage was gone, but beneath it was pain so bleak and deep that Sarah couldn’t stop herself from moving forward, dropping onto the wet tile beside the dryad. “Alix, what on earth happened back there?” she asked, truly worried. She’d never seen Alix look so desolate. “Della insisted on writing you a formal apology, then and there, but please. Tell me what’s going on. Help me understand.”

“So you can fix it,” Alix added, finishing the half-formed sentence in Sarah’s mind. “Sarah, Sarah. Always a social worker, hmm? This might be beyond even you to fix.”

Colleen popped up beside them, glaring. “Sure, come now and apologize all sweet-like. Whatever you did,  _I_ won’t forgive anytime soon. Alix, you know I’d never say this if I didn’t care about you, but you trust too lightly.”

Alix squared her shoulders. “You overstep, nereid,” she said in formal tones, and Colleen sank to her eyes, abashed. It was the first time Sarah had ever seen Alix discipline one of her people like that; she was truly their leader, despite the more casual way they all behaved. Then the dryad softened. “It is no fault of Sarah’s. How could she refuse her soon-to-be mother-in-law a trip Above to go shopping on Fifth Avenue?”

“Mother-in-law…” Colleen began, and then her eyes went wide. “Ler’s salty _balls_ , the very Queen of Etaron was up here? _Shopping_?!”

“Yes, shopping,” Alix sighed. “Sarah took her to Victoria’s Secret. I hope her poor husband is prepared.”

“Hey now,” Sarah said, encouraged somewhat at Alix’s brief humor. “That wasn’t my doing; we both know I didn’t _point_ her at the lingerie store. She found it on her own. Although she did say she wanted to shock Thiel with modern fashion. I hope she at least waits until neither me or the Goblin King are in residence to spring it on him.”

“That black corselet she bought should do it,” Alix said dryly. “Anyway, Colleen, now that you’ve sung me back to sanity, even I have to admit that Queen Cadelinyth did nothing to cause offense.”

Colleen huffed angrily. “Oh, sure now. The daughter of the Sorceress of Astolwyr was every bit of proper courtesy to you, urban outcast low fae that you are. Of course she was.”

Alix laughed, and ran a hand through the merrow’s hair affectionately. “Yes, she was,” she said. “That’s why I was so furious. And when I snapped at her, she had the gall to call me  _cousin_ .”

Well, at least they had arrived at that particular curiosity. “Not to interrupt, but the absolutely-clueless relative-age-to-an-embryo human would love to know why that was offensive,” Sarah interjected, attempting to make light of the age difference that Jareth often pointed out, as well. Alix was right; there was still so much she had to learn about this world she was about to be a part of. Too soon to be a queen within, even.

It was the merrow who answered her. “Because  _I’m_ cousin to Alix, sea nymph to tree nymph, nereid to dryad. We are low fae together, none better than the other, only different. When I want to wheedle her for a raise, I call her  _sister_ . And sister she’s been to me, these years. There’s no merfolk in the city with a  _pool_ for an office, save me.”

“I would be a very great fool not to make certain you have all the comfort I can give you,” Alix said. “You’ve been at my side for a long time, almost as long as Ojore. And I don’t have the head for numbers that you do. I wouldn’t know if we were even turning a profit, if I didn’t have you.”

“Ah, go on with you,” Colleen muttered, but she blushed at the praise – greenly, Sarah saw. 

Alix turned to Sarah. “When Cadelinyth of Etaron calls me  _cousin_ , I know she doesn’t mean it. She’s of the highest high fae lineage, and a power in her own right. She’s only doing it to play nice.”

Sarah chewed her lip. “All right, I might grant you that, since I’m still a novice in fae politics. Yet, to be fair, Jareth was up here, all in your face and being a swaggering bastard, and you’re fine with him. Della, the one that was trying to play nice, pisses you off to a level I haven’t seen you at, yet.”

That got a laugh from the dryad. “Your Jareth is an arrogant prick, that’s why. At least he’s an  _honest_ prick. He came up here ready to set the whole place on fire if you were in any danger. Damn the consequences, damn any sense of courtesy, he showed up and threw his glamour off and made sure we all knew how big and scary and powerful he is. And when I gave him my oath, he settled down and spoke to me like an equal.”

Sarah sat cross-legged, thinking. “All right, let me get this straight. You expect the high fae to be assholes. Jareth acts like an asshole, but he calms down, and you like him well enough despite the fact that he’s a jerk. So Della’s nicer. Explain why that’s such a huge trigger.”

Alix leaned toward her. “Because she’s  _not_ nicer. Sarah, you’re no fool. Look me in the eyes and tell me that woman doesn’t use her looks and her charm to get what she wants all the time. She’s a spoiled princess who always gets her way, and the fact that she’s trying to suck up to  _me_ , just because she knows  _you_ like me, makes me want to turn her pretty, pretty hair into a nest of briars.”

Sarah let out a sigh through her nostrils. It wasn’t something she could deny, she was just getting to know Jareth’s mother. What could you know in less than a week about a woman that had five hundred years on you? But she had yet to believe that that even scraped the surface of who the older woman was. There had to be much more to her than she had been thus far. “Okay, yeah, Della can be manipulative; who do you think Jareth gets it from? She  _is_ a princess, and she  _does_ get what she wants most of the time. But Alix, what’s so wrong with her wanting you to like her?”

Now the dryad bared her teeth. “Because in her heart of hearts, I’m just another fucking tree,” she growled.

“Now, stop. You can’t know that from one meeting,” Sarah shot back, frowning at that blatant judgment.

Alix and Colleen both laughed derisively, which got Sarah’s hackles up. “Okay, look, let’s be fair here. Her father is a damned  _owl_ . Not high  _or_ low fae, an actual  _animal_ , which her uber-scary sorceress mother fell in love with. How on earth could she get away with thinking she’s so much better than you?”

Colleen flicked her tail dismissively. “It’s not about logic. I’ve known high fae who had less integrity and intelligence than a barnacle. They still think they’re better than us, despite all evidence to the contrary. That’s even easier for a princess born to power.”

Sarah had to scrub her hands over her face in frustration. “Okay, lets just establish that now I’m not stupid enough not to realize that both of you have me beaten by half a century at least, probably. Can you honestly tell me that either of you have you ever  _met_ Della before today? Do you know  _anything_ about her besides the ballad that seems to be known far and wide? Just checking, since everyone seems to know her.”

“She was considered the most beautiful woman of all the fae, when she first came of age,” Alix replied. “And her mother invited literally every kingdom to court her, trying to get rid of Deruthiel of Etaron. _Everyone_ knew who she was.”

“Yeah, so I’ve been told. All and sundry have _heard_ the freakin’ song,” Sarah said with a note of challenge, raising a dark brow. “But do you _know_ her? By anything other than hearsay?”

“No,” Alix admitted. “And still she behaved exactly as I expected.”

Sarah sat up straighter, her point proven. “So we have preconceived assumptions, then. Alix, do you have any idea what I walked into, the first night they were there? I had to be up here for work, and I was so worried that Jareth was going to have a hard time with both his parents there. It’s been years since he had seen them face-to-face. Well, guess what? I got Underground, dressed as formally acceptable as I could on my own and quickly for my royal in-laws-to-be, and guess what I walked into the dining hall to find? All three of them were shitfaced drunk.”

That did seem to startle them both a bit, and Sarah continued. “Well, to be fair, Della wasn’t quite drunk yet, but the men were roaring. Yeah, she was all precious about asking the castle bard to sing her song, but I honestly hadn’t heard the story of how she and Thiel got together. I’m guessing Jareth knew it would happen, so didn’t want to spoil it. And his father gave me footnotes the whole time. While she was teasing Jareth and making jokes and practically snuggling in Thiel’s lap. Those two are  _disgustingly_ in love, by the way. I dunno about you, but drunk and cuddly doesn’t show up in any of the stories about fairy princesses that  _I_ read growing up. Far from it.”

“So she’s friendly with the other high fae, and her son’s human lover,” Colleen shrugged.

“No, hold on,” Sarah cut her off. “It turns out that _Thiel_ is the one who’s a little bit racist, and I just set _him_ straight. When he was rude to my goblin, Della kicked him in the ankle for it in front of everyone. When we had a runner the other day, she was down on the floor in the middle of the goblins, changing the baby. _I_ won’t even sit on that floor, I’ve seen the damn chickens running back and forth, and let’s not even talk about the vulture.”

There was silence from them both as they thought about it. “None of this is to say she’s perfect,” Sarah went on. “I’m not saying you had no right to be upset. Again, novice observer, clearly. Just … give her a chance, okay? If she was that much of a two-faced snob, I wouldn’t put up with her, mother-in-law or not, and Jareth would be finding himself another queen, curse or not. And despite what either of you seem to think, I’m not that easily fooled by charm. I have dealt with His Nibs for fifteen years and I was able to walk away at one point. I know charm. Trust me, my own mother is incredibly charming, and she’s the biggest flake on the planet.”

“And you call the King and Queen of Etaron, Della and Thiel,” Colleen murmured. “I’ve known fae who were killed for less, though not by those two.”

Knowing what she knew of nobles and the rules by which they lived, Sarah knew she was right, but could only shrug. “I know that, but if that’s what they  _insist_ you to call them…”

“You said she wrote an apology,” Alix said at last, and Sarah handed over the letter. Alix broke the seal, took out the parchment, and read silently. Colleen leaned against the pool’s edge beside her, but didn’t try to read over her shoulder.

“Ah, damn,” Alix sighed, and tossed the letter to Sarah.

 

To Alix of New York City,

I, Cadelinyth, Queen of Etaron, daughter of Queen Iswyniel of Astolwyr and Jarrek the Owl-Born, do offer you my sincere apologies for the offense I caused you today. It grieves me to have wounded one who has been such a friend to my daughter Sarah, and who moreover has exhibited nothing but courage and integrity in her leadership. I pray you will permit me to make such amends as you deem needful.

With the formalities out of the way – Alix, I am sorry. I knew when I spoke the last that I was going to remind you of a terrible injustice done to you. I hoped that by doing so, I could make you vent your spleen at me, and I could apologize for being what I am. I did not ask to be high fae, or a princess, or a queen. I did not ask to be beautiful or gifted with strong magic, either. I cannot say I don’t  **like** being all of those things, for it does make my life a great deal easier in some ways, though more interesting in others. I am what I am, and I suspected that someone like me had treated you badly in the past, to make you hate me so much on so little acquaintance.

Whoever she was, whatever reason she gave for her action, she was wrong.

If you committed high treason, or murder, or rape, in my realm, Thiel and I would kill you, yes. But not that way. Beheading is very quick, or so it seems. To cut down a dryad’s tree is death by torture. It is heinous, cruel, and completely unwarranted in every case. I would put to death anyone in my realm who did such to one of my dryads.

And I was wrong, too. I should not have spoken of it to you. Not then, not in public, not in front of Sarah. I am old enough and powerful enough to swallow your wrath without souring my stomach. I should have done that, and brought it up to you later, quietly. Or simply given you the chance to learn that I am not she who tried to murder you, that I will do everything in my power to ensure I am  **nothing** like those fae who treat the so-called lower races as chattel.

I am sorry. I would beg your forgiveness, but I do not yet deserve it. If ever there is some favor I could perform that would help me atone for the wrong I’ve done, please, tell me.

I’m sure you would rather I simply stayed well out of your way for the rest of our lives, but I cannot. You had the courage to stand up and call me out. It was not mere bravado, it was righteousness. I respect that, and I respect your friendship with Sarah. Since she is to be my son’s queen, and since I quite love her for her own self, we must cross paths, and I cannot let such a wrong on my part stand. Please let me earn your forgiveness.

Yours,

Della

 

Sarah read with her eyebrows rising steadily higher. That was … freaking masterful, actually. And sincere. She handed it back silently, and Alix passed it to Colleen. About half way through, the merrow dropped her mouth below the water and made a noise that sounded like a particularly virulent curse.

“If you hadn’t told me about her and the goblins, I would’ve read this and said she deserves to be called the Queen of Spin,” Alix said. 

“Yeah, well, she has to be, to have been Queen for so long in that world,” Sarah said with a shrug. “The thing is, Della can be real, too. That first paragraph is her being Queen Cadelinyth. The rest is true to what I’ve seen of her being Della.”

“Ojore? Your opinion?” Alix said, taking the letter from Colleen and holding it out. Sarah turned around to see that he’d followed her at some point, and stood guard in the doorway.

The tall dark-skinned fae read the letter over, frowning. “It is different for us,” he said. “But this queen … if she speaks true, she is worthy of respect. And she offers us a potent favor as recompense.”

“I know,” Alix sighed. “I know what you’re thinking, but I won’t let her do it for me. It has to be me, it has to be _us_ , or we’ll always be beholden to someone else. And I won’t have that for any of us. No, I’ll let her help me if the situation arises, but I won’t ask much of her. Not even with her word in print offering it.”

There was another pause, which Sarah finally broke. “And that’s why I trust you,” she said quietly. “Everyone tells me not to trust the fae – but you’re damn careful not to get mixed up in all this. You told me once, all you want is to protect your people. And you’ve had a lot of chances to take advantage, of me, of others, that I’ve watched you pass up.”

“Alix is trustworthy, first and foremost,” Colleen said firmly.

“That is why she leads, and we follow,” Ojore added. “Among my people, it is not the strongest who leads, or the cruelest. Our kings are wise, and just. A leader is driven to protect his people. Or her people.”

“Also I had the money to buy the club, which gave me a chance to meet you all,” Alix said self-deprecatingly.

Colleen slapped her tail against the water, splashing them all with fine droplets. “Nonsense. You don’t lead here because you’re rich. That idiot in Brooklyn probably has more money, but he spends it on himself and lets his people go cold and hungry.”

Alix only shrugged. “I do what’s right. That’s all I’ve ever tried to do. And you all know why. But Sarah doesn’t.”

Ojore shifted on his feet, looking balefully at Sarah, and Colleen sank in the water again. Alix turned her caprine eyes to Sarah again, and the grief was still in them. “I feel as though I owe your Della an apology, and you an explanation,” she said. “Let me tell you a tale that will serve as both, if you would listen.”

A little chill ran down Sarah’s spine. “Only if you feel as though you can tell me without hurting yourself worse,” she replied. “Whatever this was, it’s ugly. I can tell that much.”

A wry smile curved Alix’s lips. “Oh, ugly indeed. Look.” And she drew her legs out of the water, rolling her soaked cuffs up to bare her left leg.

Sarah couldn’t help gasping, and tears sprang to her eyes. Just below Alix’s knee was a deep scar, half an inch wide and sunken into the flesh an inch deep. It circled her leg, as though someone had tried to remove it at the calf.

Above the scar, Alix’s skin was fair and perfect, free of any blemish. Below it, all the way to her toes as she removed her now-ruined boots, was a nightmare.

Her skin was seamed with a mixture of ridged greenish scars that looked like human burns, and buckled into gnarled squarish shapes that looked like charred wood. The deep grooves between were blackened, while the surface had an unhealthy powdery gray look. It was as if she walked on a burnt stump … or two of them, as Sarah saw when Alix rolled up the right cuff and took that boot off, too. Her feet had once been human-like, but her toes were just blind nubs now, missing at least the last joint.

“It doesn’t hurt anymore,” Alix said calmly. “I actually don’t have much feeling at all. Learning to walk again without being able to feel where I stood was … challenging, let’s say.”

“What the fuck … who did this to you?” Sarah’s voice shook with horror, and dawning rage. The words were out of her mouth before she considered them. “What kind of monster would do such a thing? Jesus Christ, Alix, tell me you killed whoever did this.”

The dryad laughed. “You are so young, Sarah. No, she lives. And I would not kill her, even if I could. Listen…”

 

…

 

Once there was a grove of dryad-trees, dancing in the winds. Oak and ash, beech and willow, the sisters sang their songs and stepped from within the life-giving wood to dance when the moon rose over their glade. There was no rank among them, for they were the daughters of the trees and needed none. All they needed was rich loam and strong sunlight and clean water, and each counted herself queen of her own little realm within the bark.

Trees do not count years like humans or other fae. One of the oaks was eldest, for her trunk was the thickest, but that mattered not. They slept in the winter, and danced in the spring and summer and fall. A dryad can live forever, and these had lived many long years without growing any wiser – or growing bitter. The green life is sweet, and simple, and eternal.

Other fae and even mortals came to the dryad groves to join the dance; all nymphs are beautiful, and free with their favors. In some tales a fae or human falls in love with one of them, but their hearts are not the same, and though a dryad may love greatly in the moment, she’s as likely to forget her beloved’s name tomorrow. For most, the dryads are a lovely summer night’s tryst, and that is all the dryads want.

Most dryads.

Once upon a time, a dryad fell in love. The willow by the bank was not as her sisters; she withdrew to her tree when the satyrs played their pan-pipes and sported all night with the nymphs. When mortal men came calling, she did not sing to them under the stars. She danced only with her sisters, and with the water-nymphs who tickled playfully at her roots. No one cared, or even noticed. They had their own lives and loves and sport, and her choice to abstain from men of any kind harmed none.

Until a lovely highborn fae girl stumbled into their grove. She did not come to dance, she came to weep, and the dryads hid from her. They did not understand grief, and the girl’s tears frightened them. But the willow came forth, curious, and asked the girl why she wept. And the girl watered her shoulder with salty tears, crying out a tale of disappointing her parents and being scolded by them. A child’s problems, surely. The willow soothed her with song, and let the girl sleep in the safety of her branches.

The girl came often to the grove, seeking out the willow’s company. She was a lonely child, her mother’s only babe, and much was expected of her noble blood. Only in the grove could she simply be herself, and speak freely without worrying that she would be scolded for pertness or improper behavior. The other dryads befriended her too, and plaited flowers into her hair, but the willow was her first and best friend, always.

Time moved for the girl as it did not for the trees, and she became a woman. In her heart stirred things for which she had no name, and one summer while the bees droned loud and the scent of blossoms lay like a drug over the grove, she kissed the willow. There beneath sheltering branches the dryad taught her how to dance, and in so doing found that she had given a piece of her green heart to this high fae girl. In return, part of the girl’s heart was hers, and it changed her forever.

The willow would dance with no other but her lover, and for that her sisters teased her. Gently, for they had no cruelty in them, but they laughed that she would choose to dance only with one fae girl, when all of them and the naiads were here for her if she wished. The willow smiled, and let her branches sway, and dreamed until her lover returned. All that summer, and that fall, they loved, every chance the girl could get away from her parents.

In winter, the dryad forced herself awake, though the cold nipped cruelly at her branches. The girl wove woolen blankets to wrap around her trunk against the snow, and brought her hot teas to drink, and though it was too cold for much else, they smiled into each other’s kisses, and thought of spring.

For the first time in the willow’s life, she knew impatience, waiting for the seasons to change. She knew  _time_ , it had hold of her at last, and even when the sun’s warmth set her branches blooming again, she fretted, for winter would one day return. Never had she worried about such things before, and she begged her lover to come to her more often, to store up their hours of pleasure against the cold.

It was the next year’s summer, when the stream chuckled busily and the birds sang to drown out all else, that the girl’s mother found them.

The willow-dryad had never thought to hide their love. Her sisters looked on at the dance without judgment, and eventually with boredom. The beasts of the glade were too busy in their own lives to care what a dryad did, or with whom. So when the girl’s mother found them lying on the soft grass, in the shade of the dryad’s own branches, the willow had no idea why her lover yelped and clutched her clothes.

She learned.

The girl’s mother was outraged. Never before had the dryad heard her kind called stupid and weak, foolish sluts good only for keeping goatish men occupied. The trees rattled with anger, and the willow rose up, her branches swaying. It was not the insult to herself that enraged her, but her lover’s tears. The girl was weeping, and begging her mother, and promising she’d never come back. The willow did not understand why she was being betrayed for this cruel woman. She remembered no mother, herself.

The mother struck her child in the face, and bowled her over, making her cry harder. The dryad lashed out with a slender branch and laid open the mother’s cheek. “Let her be,” she called, “she does no harm here. You have no right to hurt her.”

The mother had magic, and attacked the dryad, singing the leaves from her branches. Green wood does not burn well, and the hurt was only superficial, but it was threat enough to silence the other dryads in fear. The mother cuffed her child up and pulled her away, still crying – and apologizing to the willow, calling out to her to run away, to go while she could.

A dryad  _can_ change her tree, but it takes a very long time, and leaves her weak in the new tree. The willow was foolish, then, not understanding and not wanting to leave. She’d had many years, perhaps centuries, in this tree, whose every branch and bud she knew like her own hand. Besides, if she left, however would her lover find her again?

The willow did not know her danger until the mother returned later that day, with men at arms. They bore torches, and axes, which kept the other dryads in their trees. But what drew the willow’s gaze in terror was the big iron saw carried by two men.

She shrieked and came forth, flying at them with hopeless rage. Two of the soldiers beat her down and held her while the woodsmen went to her tree. Even in her dread then, she could see that they had no desire to do this. They were as afraid of the mother as she was. For a second, she could pity them, too.

When they started cutting, the saw’s sharp iron teeth ripping fast through bark, her agony blanked out everything else. And until the tree’s ancient trunk was severed, all she could do was scream. Her life’s blood ran from her and from the blunted stump. It would have been enough to kill her, but the mother saw that sap flowing amber … and called the flame again, setting the stump afire. The burning made her howl, and her sister trees swayed and lashed the ground, until the mother and her soldiers fled.

Rain came down, and put out the fire, but the damage was done. The willow was severed. Hours passed, and the dryad lay in the open, staring dully at her tree, waiting for death to claim her. She could feel herself withering above the cut, watching the leaves curl up and fall from what had been her branches and were now dead wood.

When night fell, her lover came, and wept bitterly. She begged the dryad to live, but the willow only closed her eyes. She had no strength to comfort her lover, could not stand or even raise her arm. She lay sprawled as the soldiers had left her, hovering at the threshold of death, and looked on that end with welcome.

Her lover begged the other dryads to help. At first they ignored her, then they blamed her for the willow’s torture and murder. Their branches lashed at the girl, the little beasts that lived in their shelter ran out to peck and bite her, but bruised and bloody she rose to her knees and begged again for aid. At last, they joined their power together, and sent it to the blackened stump of the willow.

From the still-living roots untouched by saw or fire, the dryads together coaxed a shoot to grow. This the girl carefully dug up with her bare hands, watering it with her tears. She placed it in a pot and brought it to the dryad, begging her to hold to life for a few more days. The willow didn’t care, but placed her hand on the young green stem when the girl pleaded with her. It was a tremulous, tiny thing to which to trust her life and safety. But willows are strong trees, and grow swiftly, and in the dryad’s heart was now a wish to live – to spite the murderer-mother, and free her lover, and never see another dryad’s tree touched with iron and flame.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Salixia Obduron is sort of bastardized Latin, from _Salix obduro_ , roughly, the willow that endures.


	28. By Grace Go I

“Holy God,” Sarah whispered, blinking. 

Alix sat cross-legged, watching her face. “She managed to get me out, and into the care of a smuggler. At first I could not bear the touch of even the softest blankets, for every inch of me ached. I was paralyzed, unable to move, but I could feel everything. The smuggler left me with a clan of water fae, and they nourished my young tree and let me float in their pools where at least the water didn’t hurt.

“It took me three years to heal. For the first two, I couldn’t walk. It took months before I could even use my hands. Someone else had to feed me, bathe me, tend to every need. The naiads and nereids did it out of pity, and I made sure to repay their kindness. The smuggler did it because he was well-paid.”

Sarah understood that it couldn’t have been cheap. To risk the anger of someone who would murder her daughter’s lover was dangerous enough, and then to have to provide such intimate care would’ve been costly too. “Her family must’ve been rich. How did she manage to get away with paying him?”

Alix smiled sadly. “They were wealthy, but she didn’t pay him in coin, Sarah. She tried to give him her jewels, but he refused. To him, their value was only what they would bring once melted down; a whole piece is worth more, but identifiable. Instead, the currency he accepted is one that her parents will never miss – unless she agrees to marry the man they betrothed her to.  _He_ would notice.” 

Sarah could only stare, not wanting to believe what she was hearing. Alix explained, “Most fae don’t care if their bride is virginal, but her mother advertises her purity, and she had to yield her maidenhead to save my life.”

Sarah had to turn her head aside, one hand over her mouth, as her gorge rose. Losing her virginity hadn’t been that big a deal to her, in the grander scheme of things … but this was different. “That’s … oh my God, Alix. That’s sickening.” Ojore and Colleen had both heard this story before, but judging by their furious and queasy expressions, they hadn’t heard  _that_ part.

“She didn’t tell me at first,” Alix said. “Not like we could stay in touch; I didn’t dare contact her, when doing so would let her mother know I was alive. Later on we worked out a way to get messages to each other, but it had to be rare. 

“When I was well enough, I went to work for that same smuggler. He dealt with me honestly, I’ll give him that. Working for him made me rich. Taking her was just a point of pride for him, and I don’t think he’d even understand why I hate him now. He did save my life, after all. Spent a month feeding me and cleaning me afterward, and never once touched me inappropriately, though I couldn’t have stopped him. For all he knows, I cut my ties for some other reason, not because ten years and two letters later, Lare finally told me what it had cost her to save me.”

“Jesus,” Sarah whispered. “And you can’t kill her mother, _why_?”

“Because she is my beloved’s mother,” Alix answered. “And because it is beyond me. She is a power I cannot surpass, face to face, and I have too much honor to send assassins, if even I could afford them. So far as _she_ knows, I’m dead, and any move to exact revenge would bring me back to her attention.”

“That fucking _sucks_ ,” Sarah growled. “She deserves to at least get the living hell beaten out of her a couple times.”

“She is not my concern,” Alix replied. “Her daughter is. You realized, some time ago, that my end goal is to secure a kingdom for ourselves Underground. One where my kind, the low fae, never again have to fear that they will be slaughtered at a royal whim. Once I do that, I can invite my love to run away from home and join me.” A pause, and then, “If I’m lucky, she will. I haven’t had a letter in twelve years.”

_Sixty years,_ Sarah thought. Alix had been in New York City for sixty years, and there had been some years in between the attempted murder and her arrival here, by the sound. So for all that time, she’d be working toward reuniting with her lover. And through it all she only had a handful of letters to sustain her.

“You are a lot stronger than I am,” Sarah said softly, shaken. “I think I’d go mad.”

“Going mad won’t solve anything,” Alix replied with a shrug.

Sarah rubbed the back of her neck. “So, I know you said it was an apology and an explanation. How much of this can I tell Della? If any?”

“Tell her the lot, but let her know I will not accept an invitation to her realm. Or yours.” Alix’s eyes were implacable. “It must be our _own_ realm, won by our own strength.”

“And that’s why Della being here set you off,” Sarah realized. “If the others up here see you with her, they’ll think you’re making alliances, and try to put you down.”

For a long moment, Alix simply looked at her. When she spoke, her voice was matter of fact. “I trust you, Sarah. The point is, when I leave New York, I intend to take as many of my rival’s retinue with me as will come. They all know me by reputation, and many of them would leave their protectors, if I had such a thing to offer them. But that  _will_ look like I’m taking over the city, and I won’t make a move in that direction until I have a realm of my own to retreat to. All out war among the urban fae would be an ugly thing.”

Sarah could only cough at that. She could barely imagine. “I’ll keep her majesty locked up, then, and I’m sorry I brought her Above without consulting you. I should’ve known fae politics was going to be a thousand times worse than humans.”

The three of them shrugged in unison. “Something like this was bound to happen eventually,” Colleen admitted. “The kings and queens below would someday take notice, and then we’d all be on the jump. I guess it’s better that it’s you, and Umardelin, than some others.”

Alix stretched. “Tell the Queen of Etaron that her apology is accepted, and offer her my own. As for atonement, I ask none, and will accept none. And Sarah – thank you.”

“For what?” Sarah laughed. “Getting all of us in this mess in the first place?”

“Not flinching at my scars,” Alix replied. 

Sarah could only smile sadly. “I’ve seen worse.”

“We have work we ought to be doing,” Ojore murmured. “Only two hours until we open.”

Alix sighed. “My taskmaster. Very well, let us go. I need to order new boots, now.”

Colleen, meanwhile, looked to Sarah. “I’m sorry for snapping at you,” she admitted. “I thought ‘twas you who set her off … I should’ve known better.”

“Don’t be sorry. You were just trying to protect your own,” Sarah said. “Up here, that’s really important.”

 

…

 

When Sarah related the gist of the tale to Della later, she broke off in the middle, just after the other fae woman had set fire to Alix’s tree. Della’s eyes had gone an alarming shade of white, and her normally lovely features had hardened. “If ever she should give you a name,” she said, her sweet voice gone cold, “tell me at once. It may be that I cannot exact retribution from this murderess, but I will do anything and everything in my power to make her regret her decision.”

“Alix wouldn’t want you to,” Sarah said.

“Oh, I will stay out of Alix’s way, and wait until she has her lover back again. _Then_ I’ll let this bitch feel my wrath. _No one_ should ever abuse their folk as she has. If she’s done it to Alix, she’s done it to others. She does not deserve her title or the fealty of her vassals. I will see her stripped of them, if I cannot see her stripped naked and flogged from one end of the High King’s court to the other.”

As she spoke, the air seemed to tremble, and the chandeliers chimed as they swayed. “Okay, Della, I need you to calm the hell down,” Sarah said. “There’s nothing we can do right now, and Alix would hate you  _more_ if she could hear you.”

“ _This_ is not about Alix. It’s about the cruel idiot who thinks her blood gives her the right to do such,” Della growled, but she shook herself, and the chandeliers stopped moving. “You’re right, we can do nothing yet. But I will not forget this. Someone must keep the high fae in check, and it can only be one another. My mother, also, would have the wretch’s head, for the abuse as well as trying to force her daughter into marriage.”

Sarah groaned; she’d heard enough about Iswyniel to dread getting the sorceress involved. Della was bad enough all by herself. “Just  _please_ don’t do this in front of Alix. I doubt you’ll even see her again, but seriously, she’d be furious at you trying to take it out of her hands.”

“She is very independent, your Alix, but she must have allies if she is to succeed. And I am not an advantage she can afford to waste,” Della replied. “She will see that, in time. And I have an idea of how to handle her, now. No more court manners.” Della smiled, and Sarah hoped like hell she wouldn’t have to deal with whatever _that_ meant anytime soon. She had bigger worries ahead – and one of them was the crown she’d shortly be wearing.

 

…

 

It was time to bring Toby down to Umardelin. Sarah worried, incessantly, and was half-sick with relief at the moment finally arriving. One way or another, they were finally getting this particular stressor over with. Toby himself was only eager, restlessly pacing her apartment while she made sure everything was in place Underground. With Jareth awaiting them and acting as the anchor point, Sarah would be able to bring Toby directly to the Queen’s Park. Toby stepped through her mirror warily, then stood blinking in surprise. “This looks just like the park by our house,” he said as she followed him.

“It’s the Labyrinth’s gift to me,” Sarah told him. 

Toby took a few steps, looking from the flower beds to the stone bridge. “Okay. So, this is the magical goblin kingdom? And you were worried about me losing my mind?”

Jareth chuckled softly, and Sarah rolled her eyes. “Tobe, c’mon. I brought you into the most normal-looking part of the place. I wasn’t going to drop you straight into the stone maze. Or the junkyard.”

“Technically, it is known as the Tract of Rottenness,” Jareth put in, and Sarah shrugged. 

Meanwhile Toby wandered over toward the bridge. He’d spotted one difference between this park and the one back home: a forest loomed at the edges of the Queen’s Park. Not like the woods in New York, which could be spooky at night sometimes. This forest was a lot darker, its trees a lot thicker, and he couldn’t shake the feeling that there were things in there watching him. Creepy, but not crazy.

He turned to Sarah, about to make another disparaging remark, and saw something coming toward them. A huge, shaggy monster shambled along, its horned head swinging with each stride, and at  _that_ , Toby finally paled. “Um … Sarah…” he said, backing up.

She looked, and for a second he thought she couldn’t see the thing. Then she laughed. “Toby, that’s Ludo. He’s a friend.”

“ _That’s_ a friend?” he managed to squeak out, as the beast came closer.

Apparently it heard him, because it rumbled in a deep voice, “Ludo Sarah friend. Sarah got brother. Sarah brother friend, too.”

Holding his ground, Toby had to admit the creature seemed to be smiling … and there weren’t any sharp teeth in that huge mouth. Its dark brown eyes were mild. And those horns looked more like something he’d draw on some sort of large ungulate.

“Of course Toby is our friend!” a higher voice piped up, and Toby looked down to see some kind of foxlike creature in a hat, with an eyepatch, riding a dog. It hopped off and bowed formally. “Sir Didymus, at your service, sir. And may I say it is a delight to have you join us for this momentous occasion.”

Hearing Sarah tell him about the Labyrinth in all his bedtime stories was one thing.  _Seeing_ its creatures, very much alive and real and yet impossible, was another. Toby felt himself reeling a bit, his mind trying to reject all of this. The world he lived in contained nothing more horrible than algebra tests, dressing out for gym, and embarrassing yourself in front of girls.

Now he was looking at  _creatures_ . Obviously intelligent, talking beings that belonged to no order of animal he’d ever heard of in biology class. He was way,  _way_ outside his comfort zone. All those fairy-tales Sarah had told him, those were  _real_ . There was an entire  _world_ out there that had nothing to do with the rules of logic or science as he knew them, a world that knew nothing of him and in which he had no place, and now he was  _in_ that world.

Except.

Wait.

He  _did_ have a place here. Right over there was his sister, his Sarah, brave and stubborn and beautiful (not that he’d admit it to  _her_ , since she was his sister and therefore a cootie). And  _real_ . His earliest memories included her. Yanking on her skirts to help himself stand up. ‘Borrowing’ her stuff. Being a pest, sure, but also adoring her, showing her his drawings and begging her for one more story before bed. Anywhere Sarah went, he could go, too. Anything she did, he was a part of, even if it was just cheering her on from the sidelines as she fought her way through getting her degree.

She was  _queen_ here, or would be soon. She could handle this, she’d looped her arm through the giant furry beast’s and was smiling up at him fondly. If Sarah could hack it, then so could he, even if this was a world full of magic that no sane person could predict or understand.

Toby squared himself, and took a deep breath. “I’m okay,” he said, as much to himself as to Sarah and Jareth. And looking at the fox-creature, he knelt down to offer his hand. “Toby Williams. Pleased to meet you.”

The fox – its name, no,  _his_ name was Sir Didymus, Toby reminded himself – took it in both gloved paws, and gave him a surprisingly strong shake. “Very good sir, and again, you are most welcome.”

Toby rose, looking with trepidation at the giant next to Sarah. “I’m sorry, I didn’t catch your name,” he said, offering his hand.

Its giant paw enveloped his hand, but it shook much more softly than Sir Didymus. “Ludo,” it told him – no, it was a  _he_ also, the sooner he thought of these creatures as oddly-shaped people, the sooner this lightheaded feeling would go away.

Sarah smiled approval at him, and just when he thought he’d gotten hold of himself, a little goblin peeked out of her hair at him. “Hi!” it chirped.

She only laughed. “And this is Neesk, my royal page,” she told Toby. The goblin – scarcely bigger than a rat – grinned toothily at him, and waved.

The goblins weren’t the bad guys, here, he reminded himself. This was their kingdom, and Sarah was their queen. So Toby waved at Neesk, and breathed out, and discovered that making room for magic in his mind was difficult, sure, but he wasn’t going  _crazy_ .

“All right, what else is on the menu?” he said, giving Jareth a challenging look.

The Goblin King just smiled. “Sarai, my love, shall we take him up to the castle?”

“Not so fast,” she shot back, crossing her arms. “Let’s just chill for a bit before we drop him head-first into coronation prep, okay?”

“Well how else is he to meet the third of your valiant allies?” Jareth said smoothly. “Good knights, would you be so kind as to go to the castle ahead of us, and let all and sundry know we are arriving soon?”

“Of course, sire,” Sir Didymus said, with a sweeping bow. Ludo nodded, and the pair of them headed off, the fox knight chattering happily about the upcoming coronation.

Meanwhile Sarah glared at him, and Toby rolled his eyes. “C’mon, let’s just go,” he said. “How much worse could the castle be?”

His sister raised an eyebrow. “Try rooms that change configuration, and location, depending on what you need at the time. Or on what the runner expects.”

“Runner?” he asked, cocking his head.

“Whomever has wished away a child, and runs the Labyrinth to regain him or her,” Jareth supplied. “We had one recently, whom Sarah assisted to regain her son.”

Toby looked at Sarah. They’d had this discussion; she’d wished him away when he was a baby, but she never really  _meant_ it. And she’d come back for him, fought her way past dangers untold and hardships unnumbered to rescue him. Not to mention the last fifteen years of being a pretty cool big sister. So he couldn’t really be upset with her. Still… “All right,” he said. “Got a question for you, Jareth. Did you let Sarah win me back, or did she beat you?” Underneath that was another question, one he hoped the fae king would hear and answer.  _Did she fight as hard for me as she says she did?_ And it pained him to see Sarah go pale as the words left his mouth.

Jareth chuckled, but stopped when he saw the look on Sarah’s face. “Be easy, love. You would have asked the same, had it been you. Both of you have iron in your souls.” And then, returning his attention to Toby, “Oh, she won most fairly. I offered her more than any other runner before her; I offered her the chance to rule at my side, if only she forsook you, though perhaps not in so many words. She turned down all her dreams to save a squalling babe who stole her toys and drooled upon them. You are her  _brother_ , Toby. Sarah would kill for your sake in an instant, and I count myself lucky to have escaped with only my city razed and my power temporarily broken.”

“Yikes,” Toby said, something about that phrasing sending a chill up his back.

“Enough about razing the city already,” Sarah grumbled. “Toby … I love you. You know that.”

“I know,” he replied with a shrug. “It’s just … when you know the fae can’t lie, why not make sure of some stuff?”

She could only sigh. “Jareth’s right. If it was me, I would’ve asked too. I just wish … never mind.”

Toby couldn’t think of a good answer to that. He hadn’t wanted to hurt Sarah by his question. Not really. Maybe the same kind of ‘not really’ that she hadn’t wanted to wish him away. But they were siblings, and that came with both a deep and almost frightening love, and a species of frustration with one another that only children never understood.

Instead of speaking, he just hugged Sarah tight, and she squeezed him back. That seemed to stand for all the words he couldn’t find.

The moment ended when her goblin hopped over to his shoulder and sniffed his ear. “Waxy! Yum!” Neesk chirped, and Toby managed  _not_ to scream like a girl at the unexpected invasion of his personal space.

“Neesk, come here,” Sarah said, stifling laughter, and the little creature ran across her arm to disappear into her hair again.

Toby shook his head, seeing the humor in it now. “Goblins are kinda gross, aren’t they? I mean, not in a bad way.”

“Yeah, they’d love your room,” Sarah shot back. “The longer I’m here, the more I wonder how much of your current level of grossness came from being almost turned into a goblin.”

“Nah, that’s just boys,” Toby said, grinning. “We’re naturally disgusting. Girls are weird, though.”

Sarah looked over her shoulder at Jareth. “Were you disgusting when you were younger?”

He arched a finely-shaped brow. “I? No. But I was a prince among the fae. I was too well-bred to be properly disgusting. Human boys have more license, I’m sure.”

Sarah looked back at Toby and smirked. “See? It’s you.”

Grinning now, he stuck his tongue out at her. Jareth chose that moment to add, “The goblins have a degree of … candor, I suppose you’d call it, about less proper matters that is more to do with the innocence of the children some of them once were, than with any sort of deliberate attempt to disgust the rest of us. Be glad you have not yet attended the Fireshooter Festival.”

“That doesn’t sound too bad,” Toby replied, as Sarah frowned.

Jareth sighed. “Goblins do not breathe fire. And it is not a display of weaponry, though we have cannon. Instead, they light certain flammable emissions, and measure the resulting flare…”

He had to trail off then, as Toby dissolved into snickers. It was the perfect gross-out humor, the kind of thing that would’ve had him rolling on the ground five years ago, and was still good for a belly-hurting laugh. Sarah just looked pained. Jareth continued, very drolly, “Be most glad that I found the loophole in the ancient tomes describing the festival, that its rulers should not only compete, but  _win_ said contest. And this is but one of the glorious traditions of the goblin race.”

“Oh man,” Toby wheezed. “But you’re the king. If it’s so gross, why not outlaw it?”

Jareth favored him with a smile. “Because my predecessor King Thydus tried to outlaw the traditions he found distasteful. The goblins revolted, and ate him.”

“Which is why you sit up in the castle where you can’t smell it, and probably send down plates of beans for them,” Sarah guessed.

“Buckets of beans, actually,” Jareth said, and from Sarah’s shoulder came a faint singsong chirp whose tune Toby knew well. “Bean, beans, the musical fruit…”

Sarah looked horrified. “Oh, God, they know that here too?”

“Sure! Is beans song!” Neesk replied. “Lotta good songs come from Above. The worms song, the gopher guts song…”

Toby, who knew the latter, started snickering, and Sarah glared at him. “No singing,” she said. “All boys are goblins. That’s my theory.”

“You see? You should have let me keep him,” Jareth chuckled, and then his expression turned leering. “And you.”

Sarah rolled her eyes theatrically, but Toby took a quick step away from them, in case the sappiness was catching. “No, now  _that’s_ gross!” he insisted, and they both glared at him.

 

 


	29. Did You Ever Have a Dream

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sarah's coronation is fast approaching. Preparations are being made, and a few minor complications may arise.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all for sticking with us through our absence during NaNoWriMo, and the holiday season. Working in retail shipping and mailing & shipping, we spent all of December basically coming home from work, eating dinner, and falling in bed. So this chapter is very much delayed, but from now on we should be back to posting weekly. Thank you!

Eventually they made their way up to the castle. It was crowded with extra servants hired to handle the large number of guests expected for Sarah’s coronation, and so close to the date itself, everyone was in a frenzy of organizing, cleaning, decorating, and cooking. Sarah grabbed Toby’s hand to keep hold of him as she threaded her way through them all. He was already agog at the exotic sights: goblins scampering underfoot; winged fairies bearing napkins and cutlery to the dining hall; and the half-stag chef, Beldych, whom Sarah no longer noticed as unusual, standing nine feet tall from hooves to antler-tips, bellowing orders to his kitchen staff.

As they crossed another corridor, Toby came to an abrupt halt, yanking his hand from hers, and Sarah spun around, frowning slightly at being pulled out of anxious thought. He stood slack-jawed, staring down the intersecting path with a stunned expression. What had he spotted now and was it too much for him to handle, after all the shocks of the day? “Tobe, come on,” she said with trepidation, returning to his side to roundly take his hand. It would have been better to have brought him here when there wasn’t added chaos, but there had been too much dallying and apprehensiveness on her part. If she had just…

“Who is she?” he whispered in reverent tones. “She’s _gorgeous_.”

Now Sarah looked, following the gaze, and saw a throng of servants hurrying back and forth. There were several maids, none of whom she would have thought would be to Toby’s interest, but Beldych’s wife Marlene was there directing the maids. She was certainly enough to turn a young man’s head, with wavy russet hair and dark mysterious eyes and a lovely figure. Oh Lord, that’s all she needed at a time like this. Teenage hormones were not high on her ‘to deal with’ list this week. “Grow up and get over yourself, she’s married with kids, and not interested in playing Mrs. Robinson,” Sarah said impatiently, and pulled Toby after her.

He pulled back, and said in tones of immense indignation, “It’s not like that! It’s love at first sight.”

Turning to glare at him, she snorted derisively. “You’re fifteen and you saw her for like ten seconds in a crowded hallway. That’s not love, it’s infatuation. Knock it off before you embarrass yourself.”

Toby sulked and grumbled, but followed her. Sarah noticed him glancing over his shoulder and rolled her eyes heavenward. She’d have to make a mental note to keep him away from Marlene. It would just figure; she was to be crowned queen of an incredibly amazing fae land and her brother, after a chance sight, thought he was developing a silly crush – and for all Beldych’s kindness, she didn’t want Toby to find out how sharp those antlers were.

After a few quick turns, they were walking down much less populated back hallways and it felt safe to let go of his hand. At least she could let go of that foolishness for the moment, back to the business at hand. This morning, she needed to do the final fitting on her gown, and Jareth had been entirely too secretive about the finishing touches on it. It had been his request, as she had been dealing with other details with Della, and she had hesitantly agreed to. He would know best what was expected. If it was  _too_ ostentatious, she had at least reserved veto power. “C’mon, Tobe,” Sarah cajoled. “I need your official artistic opinion on something.”

“On what?” he asked, his attention successfully diverted.

“The coronation dress,” she admitted, her unease filtering into her tone. “I haven’t seen the final version yet, and I want to make sure it’s not too much. There were times that I couldn’t supervise and … I mean, it has to be over the top, this is amongst the fae, but not too far over the top.”

“Yeah, you have to match His Majesty, the King of Tights and Sequins, but you don’t want to go too crazy with it,” Toby said in mock-solemnity, and Sarah dissolved into laughter at his too-apt description of Jareth.

 

…

 

“The kitchens are prepared for the coronation feast,” Della said, as if Umardelin’s didn’t currently resemble some particularly punishing afterlife, with all the ovens roaring and spits turning on every hearth. She was running down a mental list of preparations, with Thiel at one side and Jareth’s chief steward on the other. Behind them came Marlene, the wise man, and a handful of other senior staff. The coronation was only a day away, and given her greater experience in planning such matters, Della had smoothly taken over preparations. She continued, musingly, “The stables stand ready for our guests’ mounts, Sarah’s gown is nearly finished, Jareth’s new mantle is finished, the regalia is polished and made ready, the throne room is clean and decorated, and we finally have all the responses from those invited.”

“Who’s representing the High King?” Thiel asked, a trifle worried.

“The Duke of Summer,” Della replied. That got a mutter from a few of the staff, so she elaborated for their benefit, “I would not expect His Majesty, of course, or his lady wife. I did rather think he would send one of his lesser barons. The Duke of Summer is high enough to please me that he is not slighting Umardelin, and not so high as to worry me over what he intends. Better still, I happen to know his taste in wine, so we can be certain to give a good impression.” 

“All for the best,” the wise man murmured. The group of them moved onward, checking each of the public rooms and finding them in readiness.

Until the last. Della swept into the ballroom, and _tsk_ ed. “This won’t be room enough for everyone,” she said, and reached for the power to expand its dimensions, gesturing in the air to call it forth.

And then snatched her hand back with a hiss of pain, her fingers singed by power far older than her own. Umardelin’s own power, Della realized, feeling the kingdom called the Unmastered growl around her. Even without words, its meaning was clear, and very firm:  _**you** _ _ are not my queen. _

She had felt very welcome in Umardelin; some kingdoms she’d visited had resented her use of magic, even when she only drew from her personal reserves. Etaron had been like that at first, every spell she wove having to be pushed as if through treacle. At least, until her wedding night, when both Thiel and Etaron claimed her as queen. The land and its magic were hers from then on, eager to hand and a delight to behold.

Umardelin never had resisted her, ‘til now. She had thought it so ripe with wild magic that it hadn't noticed her, but her scorched hand told a different tale. And even as she shook her fingers to dispel the phantom heat, Thiel spoke her name softly.

Della turned. The servants who’d followed them were staring at her. And the ballroom itself was suddenly full of goblins, eerily silent, their eyes fixed intently on her. The grand ballroom suddenly vibrated with menace.

 _This is what Jareth faced,_ she thought, and was grateful for her son’s courage in brazening it out. The High King’s fiat had given Jareth a toehold, but more than any other realm, Umardelin had to be _won_ , not simply conquered. 

Her own path lay elsewhere. “Forgive my trespass,” she said smoothly, giving a curtsy.

The gesture to her audience was only that, a mere gesture. Umardelin had made the challenge, and Cadelinyth of Etaron closed her eyes to focus her will on meeting it.

The first image in her mind’s eye was a snarling, slavering goblin, huddled over a filthy bundle of rags. Della shook her head, a slight smile curving her lips. She softened the goblin’s features, made it more clearly feminine, and the bundle it guarded became a sleeping goblin babe. That was closer to the truth of Umardelin. It cherished its strength, guarding its power as she herself stood protective over her own child.

A sigh rose from the gathered horde, and Thiel murmured, “What are you doing, love?”

“Correcting a misunderstanding,” she replied. Della thought of Jareth, her own treasured babe, and now beloved by his kingdom as well. Then she drew Sarah into her mind, letting Umardelin feel her love and admiration for her son's fierce and tender partner. _I would not usurp her place,_ she thought. _Only aid her in making all ready for her formal coronation._

There was a pause, and the quality of the air changed somehow, followed by appreciative murmurs from the servants. Della opened her eyes to see the ballroom had grown vast, its ceiling lost in shimmering mist above, its floors and furnishings more opulently iridescent than ever - though now the gleam of gold shone throughout as well.

“ Nice work,” the steward said, and Della was wise enough to shake her head immediately.

“ That was none of my doing,” she replied. “I may have given Umardelin the idea, but the land itself prepares to crown the queen of its own choosing. Your realm is magnificent, my friends.”

That last was directed as much to the goblins as to the servants, and the throng of them grinned in unison before dispersing. The servants went as well, to their own many tasks, and she was left alone with Thiel. Only then did Della sigh deeply, and lean against his shoulder. “That was rather too close for comfort,” she murmured.

“I have to admit, I was wrong about Umardelin,” he replied. “I would never want it for my own, but I have grown to respect it. And I see why our son loves it so.”

Della only smiled. “To his great fortune, it loves him, too. Come, let us take a little refreshment before the next wave of chaos breaks.”

 

…

 

Neither of the Williams siblings knew just what to expect when they had entered Sarah’s sitting room, but the sight had struck them both quite altogether speechless. Toby stood next to Sarah, surrounded by tailors and seamstresses that were making adjustments, both of them staring at the dress. “Wow,” he finally said.

His sister was staring at it as if mesmerized, seemingly lost in thought. There was a dreamy expression on her face that he remembered well from when she had told him all those tales of her adventures in this land when he was just a little kid. “Yeah,” Sarah murmured, most of her attention absent.

“So, it’s too far over the top,” Toby said. “But is it _too_ too far over the top?”

That question brought awareness back into her gaze, Sarah startling a little. “Well, we have to take into account that it has yet to grow wings and flap away,” his sister said with a deep breath and a sigh. Though for all of her attempt at disapproval, there was a little smile that stayed curled in the corner of her mouth. “It’s a coronation gown for a fae queen. I guess I can admire his restraint in not actually  _having_ wings like the ones in  _Ever After_ attached.” She shook her head in obvious wonderment. “But there’s no denying that, whatever else it is, it’s absolutely gorgeous.”

It was beautiful, he could agree with that. There were dozens – no, probably  _hundreds_ of yards of gauzy fabric, gathered into a profusion of delicate ruffles, all of which made up a skirt that was wide enough at the base, Sarah was glancing speculatively at doorways. Worked in among the ruffles were skeins of beaded ribbon, and the bodice of the gown was weighted by complicated embroidery and a fortune in jewels. The whole thing was royal purple, darker on the bodice and lightening in the transparent ruffles of the skirt. Here and there were touches of gold, rimming the edges of the ruffles or limning the jewels. The overall effect was ethereal opulence, which suited Toby’s notion of a fairy queen.

But did it suit his sister? “You gonna try it on?” he asked.

“Your Majesty, it would be best if you did,” one of the seamstresses said.

“Not quite majesty yet,” Sarah said gently. “Feel free to order me around – this is your expertise, and the crown isn’t on my head yet.”

The head dressmaker scoffed, “Tell that to our kingdom. The crown doesn’t make the queen, Umardelin does. But if you order me to speak plainly, majesty, I shall.” Toby turned around as they got Sarah into the dress with a lot of rustling and muttering. At least once he heard Sarah murmur “wow” with real awe.

He finally turned back around.

After a long pause, in which Sarah swayed the skirt a little and looked abashed, she asked softly, “Tobe?”

He swallowed. “You look, um, magical. Which I guess was the point. You look like a princess. No, a queen.” Toby rubbed his face, trying to make his brain work. “Sare, it’s really awesome. Like, really,  _really_ awesome. You’re gonna knock ‘em dead.”

At that, Sarah let loose with a laugh he hadn’t heard in years. It actually sounded younger. “Thanks, Tobe. I … I really like it.” Tobe watched her stare at her reflection in the glass, as if seeing something beyond what he was capable of. As if she was seeing someone else, someone that she certainly had a fierce love of. “In this dress, I  _feel_ like a princess. Like all my silly teenage dreams came true. Which he was smart enough to conjure up for me again.” Smiling self-consciously, she turned to face him, looking a little embarrassed at her own enthusiasm. “God, I can’t believe I’m acting like this. And stop looking at me like I’ve completely lost it, Tobe.”

“I thought that when I found out you were dating _him_ ,” Toby shot back. 

Sarah raised an eyebrow and glared at him with what he recognized as threat, though low-grade, before looking away again to the mirror. “Can’t say I blame you,” she said with a knowing grin. With that, she gave in to what had to be temptation, and twirled around, the dress swirling out gracefully. Her laughter was light and free, making Toby grin to hear it. Sarah hadn’t laughed that easily in a long time, since she’d gotten so very serious and grown-up, and if the Goblin King had given her back some of that lighthearted joy, Toby could almost forgive him for being, well,  _him_ .

Sarah froze, a shadow crossing her features, and Toby asked worriedly, “What is it?”

Her formerly open countenance had rearranged itself into an intense frown of concentration, searching somehow for something. “ I don’t know,” she replied, distracted, her hand going to the key at her throat. “Something … Umardelin is doing  _ something _ . I can’t quite tell.”

Jareth arrived at that moment. “It feels as though my dear interfering mother just tried our kingdom’s patience too far,” he said, cloak swirling about him.

Toby saw Sarah frown. “Is that what that is? It’s like a mosquito buzzing in my ear. Kind of like the runner, but not quite.”

“ Runners are a different sort of trespass,” Jareth told her. “You will be able to feel the difference in time, as your bond with the land deepens.”

Toby just watched, out of his depth as Sarah talked casually about magic as if it were as ordinary as math. Just now she was crossing her arms and giving the Goblin King a Look. “And what did Della do to piss off our kingdom? She should know better, she’s been queen of her own for how long?”

Jareth just shrugged. “Arrogance is a family trait, as you’ve no doubt noticed. It cannot have been too great an offense, or the goblins would be rushing to the attack.”

Toby looked at him, perplexed. “You're awfully chill about the notion of goblins attacking your mom. And Sare,  _ what _ are you talking about? You can  _ feel _ what’s happening here?”

Jareth grinned, answering for them both. “To be monarch of a fae kingdom is more than a mere title, Toby. A bond exists between ruler and ruled, which lets us feel by magic means what is happening in our realm. When something changes – a child is wished away, or an attack is made against the kingdom – we will both know, instantly. Most useful, that is, and the reason why few lands are taken from their rightful lords.

“As for the other matter, my mother is a more powerful sorcerer than I, and more subtle. _If_ they truly set on her, which she has the wisdom to prevent, she has the skill to evade them. And should diplomacy and magic both fail her, my father will not. He is a great warrior, and less affected by iron than most.”

“ How’d that happen?” Toby asked, curious now. He’d never really thought about where Jareth came from, as if he were a force of nature or something. Thinking of him as someone who’d been a child, who had parents like Toby’s own, made his head hurt.

“ Jareth’s dad is half human,” Sarah supplied, when it looked as though he would launch into a long story. “And his mom is half owl. Fae genetics are weird.”

“ Sounds like,” Toby laughed, his artist’s mind wondering how owl and fae combined into one being. “Geez. Wait, Jareth, you’re only half fae?”

Oh, the arch look that earned him! “My grandfather is a fae-born owl. As far as we reckon it, I am one-quarter human, three-quarters fae. And _all_ king of this realm wherein you stand, brother of my lover.”

Toby’s nose wrinkled. “Dude. Don’t remind me. I can deal with my sister being a fairy queen a whole lot better than dealing with her knocking boots with you.”

“ Enough, both of you,” said sister intervened. “Watch it, Jareth. You make it sound as if there’s something wrong with being part human. Not smart, when you plan to  _ marry _ a human.”

“There is nothing wrong with being wholly or half or any other portion human,” Jareth elaborated. “T’was Toby who phrased it as an insult to my fae heritage. And you both know it is dangerous to mock the fae.”

“Yet I do it every chance I get,” Sarah teased, her eyes sparkling, and Toby groaned.

“Look, if you two are gonna be gross, I’m leaving,” he said, and turned to go. There were some things little brothers didn’t want to know, as he was discovering even more of late, and the grin on Jareth’s face made it all too plain he had them in mind.

Before he had actually made it to the doorway, his sister called out to him. “Tobe, just hold your gorge and wait a minute,” Sarah admonished, shaking her head. “This place … it’s huge, and it can change on you. Better stick with a guide and not wander off too far before one of us can catch up. Hey, Neesk?”

The little goblin seemed to pop into existence, for once not leaping immediately to Sarah’s shoulder. “Yes, yer queeniness?” he chirped.

“Would you please take Toby to see Sir Ludo or Sir Didymus, whichever of them is free? I don’t want him to get lost.”

“Sure!” Neesk replied, and jumped to Toby’s shoulder instead. “You wanna see trolly-troll and foxy-fox? Both’s down in courtyard.”

Toby’s eyes went a little wide at having something that … toothy sitting on his shoulder, but he had been telling himself to treat the goblins as people all day. It was something he needed to get over, to keep his place in Sarah’s life now that she’d gone and turned the world upside-down with this whole queen business. That, even at this point, seemed utterly surreal. So he took a deep breath, and gave Neesk a reassuring smile. “Point the way, then.”

Neesk sat up tall on his shoulder, tail flicked around his neck for balance, and pointed at the door. “Out theres and right down the hall,” he said importantly.

Funny, he could see why Sarah liked this one.

 

…

 

Once the two of them were alone, away from whining sibling eyes, Sarah took a moment to lean back as Jareth wrapped her in his arms, still staring in the mirror. “Don’t you dare wreck the dress,” she warned with an impish smirk.

“I did not come here to ruin the work of so many hours,” he replied. “You like it, I assume?”

Still smiling, the soon-to-be Queen of Umardelin nodded. “How could I not like it? It’s gorgeous and crazy and over the top, just like you,” Sarah told him with complete honesty, and he kissed her cheek. “I love it, obviously. Just the right side of outrageous.”

“Good. I had thought to place a large rose at the waist, but my dressmaker kept ‘accidentally’ leaving it off, so I yielded to her judgment,” Jareth informed her. “Why so eager to send your brother away?”

Actively thinking about it again got a groan from Sarah. “I’m gonna follow him in a minute, once I get this off and safely put up again,” she said, and sighed. “But I wanted a word with you first. We need to keep my dear, foolish baby brother away from Beldych’s wife.”

“Marlene?” Jareth asked. “She is one of my most trusted staff. How could she have given offense?”

“She hasn’t, but he will. Toby saw her in the hallway and had a fifteen-year-old moment. He’s talking about love at first sight and all that garbage. I don’t want our favorite head chef to gore him; although if he’s too obnoxious with it, I may let him scare it out of him.” She rolled her eyes ruefully.

Jareth forbore reminding her that she too had fallen in dramatic love at that age. The look on his face was enough for her to guess, and Sarah elbowed him anyway. Rather than scold her for it, he kissed her neck. “Very well, we shall protect young Toby from himself. Will you do me the honor of turning round? I have not yet seen this gown in motion.”

“Uh-huh. That’s what I thought. Though you went with purple this time,” Sarah chuckled. “You hide it well, but you’re a big cheesy romantic at heart.” And she did step away, the skirts swaying, then spun in place.

The gown fit her perfectly, as lovely as he could have wished, and Jareth smiled to see it. Yet he could not resist adding, “You say such, knowing it is just as true of you.”

 


	30. Most Unusual Entanglements

As comfortable as Jareth was being surrounded by servants – in some ways it was like being entirely alone, though with all the convenience of not needing to fetch one’s own refreshments – there was only so much admiration he could show his queen in such circumstances. So he left her to get changed again, not without a parting kiss, and went down to the courtyard to keep a watchful eye on her besotted brother.

It was common for half-beasts, like Beldych, to take much of their character from the animal side. And though his devotion to his wife was human, stags typically only visiting hinds during breeding season, his defense of Marlene could be as vicious as any stag in rut. None had tried his patience so far, and Jareth did not plan for Toby to be the first. The boy was charming, but an infatuated youth was a nuisance to his elders.

In the castle courtyard, Sir Didymus had assembled the nascent Queensguard, as Jareth had expected when he heard Neesk mention where they were. What he had _not_ expected was to find the large courtyard packed wall to wall with goblins, in their closest approximation of orderly rows. Toby, with Neesk on his shoulder, was crowded up against the door in the little pocket of space around Ludo. Meanwhile the fox-knight was trying to drill his charges with his typical enthusiasm. “Left!” he cried. “Turn _left_ , I say! No, your other left!”

“What is this?” Jareth said, eyeing him. There had to be several hundred goblins in the courtyard. He’d requested a _guard_ , not an entire army.

“The Queensguard, as you ordered, Sire,” Sir Didymus replied, and called out, “Attention, men!”

Most of the goblins clashed to some approximation of attention, while Jareth drew one gloved hand over his face and suppressed a sigh. The fox-knight continued, “You did ask me to choose the least ambitious, Sire, and it was a difficult task considering the typical lack of ambition amongst goblins. Without much ground to choose, I simply took all those who did not volunteer, as volunteering would indicate ambition.”

“You…” Jareth trailed off, his eyes widening. “How many are there?”

“This is the first quarter,” Sir Didymus replied. “All told there are seven hundred fifty-six, Sire.”

Seven hundred and fifty six. That _was_ an army. And would severely deplete the ranks of his _actual_ army, since he recognized a number of his officers in the throng. “Do you think Sarah needs seven hundred guardsmen?” he asked.

The fox-knight looked puzzled. “Sire, she is a lady of courage surpassing even my own! Lady Sarah will surely need even more defenders, as they are likely to die heroically in battles on her behalf.”

“I cannot fault your logic,” Jareth admitted. “However, any true _battles_ will be answered by the Goblin Army, which you in your zeal have plundered for her guard. We need only, hmm, two score guardsmen. None of which can be officers in the army, mind. Make your choices from this lot and dismiss the rest, if you please.”

“But Sire…” he began, and Jareth cut him off. “Do it now, good knight. I would like to have a presentable force when Sarah arrives, which will be in moments.”

“What of their armor?” the fox-knight said plaintively.

“Their armor?” Jareth asked, with a sinking feeling.

Didymus twirled his mustaches nervously. “I had ordered new armor for all of them, Sire, as you wished. Not all could be completed in time for the coronation, of course, but the first hundred will be done.”

Seven hundred and fifty-some new suits of armor on order, with a hundred complete. Dear gods. Jareth sighed heavily; it was a very good thing that the treasury was full, and that their trading relationship with the dwarves gave them access to large amounts of iron. Since most fae didn’t use it, it was relatively cheap. “Then the entire Goblin Army shall have new armor, and the Queensguard shall have it first, then the officers,” he replied. This was something he should’ve known about as soon as Didymus ordered it, but with the chaos of the coronation, his steward had likely just seen that the fox-knight had been given authority to provision the Queensguard, and checked it off the list. He could not fault the man for that.

Instead he went to Toby, as Didymus sighed with relief and began making his choices for the more _reasonable_ Queensguard. Jareth nodded to Ludo, who was happy to stand in the sun and look imposing, then turned his attention to the boy. “Sarah tells me you’ve fallen in love,” he said.

Of course, Toby bristled. Ah, adolescence, all the petulance of childhood with all the certainty adulthood only pretended! He did not miss those days in himself, nor did he particularly appreciate them in runners. “I don’t expect you to understand,” the boy snapped.

“No, for I did not love your sister at first sight,” Jareth replied, carefully. “I thought her a pleasant distraction. Then a great nuisance, then a true threat, and finally a worthy opponent – and partner. She is the perfect compliment to me, and to my very great fortune she agrees. I wanted her before I loved her, but the love that grows with time is often sweeter than that which strikes like a thunderbolt.”

Toby was actually listening, so Jareth continued, “Love at first sight is very rare, you know. Desire at first sight is common, and the two can be difficult to tell apart, when they both strike a man off his feet and leave him stunned.”

The boy shook his head. “This isn’t like that,” he protested. “I’m not an idiot, I know the difference between love and lust. Don’t make it gross. She just … she’s so beautiful. I don’t want anything from her. I just want to look at her.”

Jareth privately thought that sounded more like a very young man’s description of first lust, rather than first love. He had not the experience to put his yearning into action. Jareth had known his desire for Sarah for what it was the moment it flared to life in him, and had known precisely what he would have done with her, had she been of an age and inclination to return his advances. Toby was still innocent, and all he felt was the magnetic attraction. Time – and perhaps an instructional visit to a brothel – would show him the difference between infatuation and true love.

But he would hear none of that, so Jareth told him only what was practical and necessary. “Then be wary of your eyes, young Toby. For her husband loves her dearly, and he is no fool. He may not trust your chivalry. You saw my chef, did you not?”

“The guy with the antlers?” Toby said, his eyes widening a little.

“The same. _That_ is Marlene’s husband. Have you seen stags at battle? They sometimes kill one another. And you have no antlers of your own with which to spar against him. Be careful. I do not wish to spoil your sister’s coronation by having to save your skin in the middle of it.”

“No,” Toby said, appropriately shaken, and as far as Jareth was concerned that was the end of it. The boy did have some sense, after all, else Sarah would not love him so dearly.

Sarah came down then, and was presented with forty suspiciously well-trained goblins. Jareth realized only then that Didymus had chosen the _best_ of this lot, which were evidently the best of the four groups, and as such Sarah’s Queensguard would be the equal of his own private guard, if not the better.

She smirked at him. “Very nice. Thank you, Jareth, and you, Sir Didymus. I am honored to have such a devoted captain, and such fearsome guards.” The goblins of her guard grinned toothily at that remark, and she smiled back at them.

Neesk had hopped back to her shoulder, making Jareth wonder if he ought to glamour the little goblin into a parrot, so Sarah might openly carry him about Above. “They will all be formally presented after your coronation, and Sir Didymus confirmed in his new rank at the same time,” he said. “Oaths must be taken, to serve you as Queen of Umardelin. Please note, my canny love, that they serve you _as queen_ , not as an individual. So you may not use them for an armed insurrection against the legitimate king of the realm.”

“Sire, Lady Sarah would never do such a thing!” Sir Didymus protested, shocked. “Were you not my king, I would cry challenge for such slander!”

Sarah only laughed, casting the fox-knight an affectionate smile for defending her honor. “Oh, but I would. I meant to, on my second run. Kick him off his throne and leave his castle in ruins, just like last time. Only somehow he managed to talk me out of it, the silver-tongued wretch. Peace, my good knight, Jareth gives no offense.”

Toby was looking at her curiously, having caught the difference in her phrasing. When Sarah was here, she spoke more like a fae queen than a New Yorker, and between that and the dress, her little brother was beginning to see her for what she truly was. “I am most fortunate you chose to join me rather than usurp me, Sarah mine,” Jareth replied to her.

“Yes, you are,” she told him, wrinkling her nose at him slightly as her eye sparkled merrily.

 

…

 

After the informal meeting with the new Queensguard, Sarah headed back inside with Jareth and Toby. The king was immediately accosted by his steward and head groom, and let them go with a weary look as the two servants discussed stabling and provisioning for tomorrow’s guests.

Sarah was getting hungry, running back and forth across the castle was reaching the exhausting point, and she decided a visit to the kitchens would be instructive for Toby as well. The foot traffic near the main kitchen was as intense as that of the main corridor, but Beldych spotted Sarah and made room for her simply by stepping into the door. “My lady queen, how can we serve you?” he asked in his deep voice.

For the first time since they’d met, Sarah looked closely at him, seeing more than just the friendly and talented chef. Beldych’s antlers framed his head like a crown of his own, their tines polished to an ivory tone that contrasted with the ruddy brown of the branches. “Just a quick snack, if you please, literally whatever you have lying around,” she replied, glancing at the chaos they were all dealing with. “I’ve put all of you to enough trouble for one week, for certain, with all this nonsense.”

“No trouble at all, for you,” he said, dipping that grand head respectfully. “We’ve pies ready, if you like, of both meat and fruit.”

“You’re far too kind, truly. And that would be delightful,” Sarah said with a relieved smile. “One of each for me, and if I know my brother, two of each for him. By the way, this is Toby. He’s come Underground for the festivities. Tobe, you haven’t quite been introduced to Beldych yet.”

“Pleased to meet you, sir,” Toby said, offering his hand. And as Beldych shook with him, he added, “Sarah speaks very highly of you.”

“I am honored to meet you, and to hear that,” he replied, and then one of the undercooks handed over the pies. The exchange soothed some of Sarah’s worries, and with thanks, she let herself be swept into the flow of servants headed out, finding a quiet spot in the corridor to eat.

It was there that Della and Thiel found them, just as they finished the snack. “There you are,” Thiel scolded. There was a gently teasing light in his eyes, though, as he continued, “It is hardly right and regal, Sarah Williams, for a queen to skulk about the back hallways when she ought to be memorizing her oath.”

“I already memorized it,” she retorted, smirking at him proudly. At this point, she knew his teasing for it was. He could be difficult, Thiel, but it was impossible for Sarah to be cross with him for long. Not all of Jareth’s charm came from his mother’s side of the family. “All those acting classes turned out to be useful after all. I know my lines, and the dress fits, and your clotheshorse of a son didn’t go _too_ crazy with it.”

“And clearly your wit and sense of humor have not been affected by such a momentous occasion,” Della laughed.

Sarah could only shrug expressively, keeping her expression utterly neutral, even as she fought to hold back a laugh. “The plan is to stay with him and this land for many years to come. I consider the humor to be pure, unfettered survival instinct.” If she was honest, the nerves were starting to get to her. Thus far, staying busy had helped and she intended to not be alone with her thoughts for too long.

After a moment, Sarah remembered neither of them had yet been introduced to her brother. This was not as ceremonial as she would’ve liked, which really should have been his due as her sibling, but there was no real time and so it would have to do. “Tobe, c’mere. Thiel, Della, this is my brother, Toby. Tobe, this is Jareth’s father, King Deruthiel of Etaron.” Thiel offered his hand, which Toby shook distractedly. Beside him, Della offered her hand next, smiling warmly as Sarah continued, “And this is his mother, Queen Cadelinyth of Etaron.”

“My friends call me Della,” the queen added.

Toby took her hand, but didn’t shake it, just staring at her for a long silent second. Sarah looked at him, puzzled, and even Della tipped her head slightly sideways in birdlike curiosity. Finally, awkward silence eating at her, Sarah lightly chipped him in the ankle, which Toby failed to even notice. At last, he blurted, “You are the most incredibly beautiful woman I’ve ever seen.”

That was not what his sister had been expecting. At all. For a few seconds, Sarah couldn’t believe what she’d just heard, or what it meant.  _Toby, what the hell?_ Then her face paled while her throat flushed as it hit her, a mixture of horror and embarrassment swarming over her.

It wasn’t Marlene whom Toby had seen in the corridor. It was  _Della_ . And what surprise, really, for him to be so infatuated with the loveliest fae woman of her generation, who had once brought dozens of kings and princes to court her favor?

That was enough to make Sarah want to hit her brother.

And Toby could  _not_ be that stupid, not right in front of her  _husband_ , for the love of God! But he was, and he was still staring at her like a young artist in front of the Mona Lisa, like they were the only two people in the castle or the world. Thankfully Thiel looked as though he were stifling laughter, rather than an urge to box Toby’s ears. Della smiled and said only, “Why thank you, Toby, that’s very kind of you.”

_Oh my God, I’m going to kill him._ It was all she had to keep from screaming in utter frustration. Bad enough the thought that he had been crushing on Marlene, but _**Della**_? Of all the foolish… “Excuse me,” Sarah said, and grabbed Toby’s arm, hauling him away as Thiel broke into amused chuckles. In a way, that was a hopeful sign, but that didn’t help her embarrassment. Dragging her brother, who struggled and protested the whole way, into the closest empty room, Sarah shoved him up against the wall once the door was closed soundly. 

“What the hell were you thinking?!” she yelped, looking at him with no small amount of horror. Of all the possible complications of bringing Toby Underground, she’d _never_ expected _this!_ “Never mind, you obviously _weren’t_ thinking, not with anything north of your belt anyway! Tobe, you’ve been down here for _three hours_ ; how are you already causing this kind of trouble?”

“What’s wrong with you?” he snapped back. “I told you it’s not like that! It’s love at first sight!”

Normally Sarah was more than capable of dealing with her baby brother’s whims, but this? This was a whole other level, one of potential inter-kingdom incident. Wars had been fought for less, she knew. And she was utterly mystified at how much Fate seemed to hate her at the moment. “Oh  _fuck_ that romantic bullshit! Stop it!” Sarah cried, utterly horrified. “Jesus  _Christ_ , Toby, you just hit on  _Jareth’s mother!_ Right in front of her husband! Who she’s been married to for like five hundred years! Down here they fight  _duels_ over shit like that, and trust me when I tell you he’d kill you in five seconds flat!”

“I wasn’t hitting on her,” he protested, looking wounded now. “She’s just … Sarah, you saw her, she’s _unbelievable_. No woman that gorgeous has ever walked the earth.”

“Yeah, because she’s _fae_ , Toby, not human. It comes with the package. They’re _all_ some level of dazzling. And telling her how beautiful she is in front of her husband, before you even say _hello_ , is pretty obviously and _lamely_ hitting on her!” Sarah ground her teeth with frustration, and fought the urge to smack him upside the head until he saw sense. _This is not happening to me, this is not happening to me today..._

“No it’s not!” he snapped back. “It’s just the truth, I know you see it too! You just don’t want to admit that anybody can fall in love without the two of you’s level of drama!”

Now her green gaze narrowed, fighting the urge to throttle him. “Oh please, get over yourself!  _Wake up_ , despite all the damn fae around, this is not a fairytale and you are  _not_ in any kind of love at first sight with  _Jareth’s_ _**mother!** _ ”

“Who are you to talk?” Toby yelled, pushing her back. “ _You_ went and fell in love with the Goblin King, in _dreams_ apparently. Y’know, the freaking bad guy? The one who took me and scared you half to death the first part of your run to get me back? Yeah, him. And now you two are giving me diabetes every time I see you!”

“That was different and that took _years_. You first saw her half an hour ago! Also, there was no queen here, Toby! What part of _she’s married_ is not penetrating your thick damn skull, Tobe?!” Sarah shouted, resisting the urge to shake him.

“I’m not _stupid,_ Sare! I don’t want to _marry_ her, and I don’t want to sleep with her either! Jeez, give me _some_ credit! She’s just freaking _amazing_ , I just…” Words failed him then, and he fell back against the wall with a sigh. “I dunno. I felt my heart go, when I saw her. There’s nothing else. I don’t want anything from her. I know … I know I’m not good enough for her.”

Now that raised her ire in an entirely other way. No, she wasn’t going to have that. “Shut up,” Sarah growled, sighing heavily. “My brother is good enough for any-damn-body, no matter how royal. That’s not what’s important. She’s married and she’s completely madly in love with her husband. You think me and Jareth are gross, those two are  _ridiculous_ , even though they’ve been married five hundred years. I took her shopping in New York and she bought two grand worth of lingerie just to make his head spin.”

Toby visibly paled. “I don’t need to know that,” he grumbled.

“No, you don’t, you’re fifteen freaking years old. You don’t need to be picturing your soon-to-be brother-in-law’s _mother_ in lingerie, and you damn sure don’t need to be setting yourself up as cougar-bait.”

“Dammit, Sarah, I keep telling you that isn’t what this is about!” Toby had never looked so angry, and for a moment Sarah realized he was taller and heavier than she was, now. She’d never thought of him as intimidating.

“You’re _fifteen_ ,” she said again, gritting her teeth in irritation, and he cut her off.

“So I don’t have the capacity to feel anything but horny?” he shouted. “ _You_ were fifteen when you met Jareth; did _you_ have that problem?”

She had to grace to blush, but a new voice spoke from the doorway, interrupting whatever response she might summon. “I have no idea what I’m interrupting, but it sounds horrific,” Jareth said drolly.

They both stared at him, and Toby at least had the sense not to declare his love. Sarah sighed. If she was upset, Jareth was likely to be furious. Better to set this argument aside for now. “Long story. It’s not gonna be a problem. _Is_ it, Toby?”

“Of course not,” he replied, nettled.

Jareth raised an eyebrow. “This relates to what we discussed earlier?”

“Yes,” Toby said, and Sarah looked from one to the other. She didn’t want to tell Jareth, not right now, just _who_ Toby’s obsession had fixed on. She could just imagine how _that_ would go. But apparently they’d discussed this when she thought it was about Marlene, and now she had to hope that Jareth had given him some sage man-to-man advice that might actually be useful. “Okay, enough for now. I’m done with this craziness at the moment,” she proclaimed. “Jareth, Toby is going to need some clothes to fit in down here. Good thing I warned the tailor ahead of time. Take him for me, please? I need a few minutes to talk to your parents.” _And maybe shore up this idiocy a bit more, God help me._

“Of course, love,” Jareth said.

And as Sarah walked away, she heard Toby said, “I’m not wearing tights.”

Jareth’s response, which she wished she hadn’t heard, was simply, “Ah. You prefer a gown, then?”

 

…

 

Sarah went to apologize to Della and Thiel, still utterly mortified, and saw the rueful little smile curving Della’s lips. “I’m sorry, he’s an idiot, I tried to yell some sense into him,” she began.

“Oh, don’t,” Della interrupted. “It’s not his fault.”

Thiel just shrugged. “He’s not the first, he won’t be the last.”

Sarah blinked at them both. This was … not what she’d expected. In her own eyes, Toby had offered a massive insult to them both. “How are you not mad at him?”

At that, Thiel scoffed. “Please. I haven’t got the energy or the time to be furious with every man who falls madly in love with my wife. I can’t blame him, either – I look at her every day. Give him time, he’ll get his brain back eventually.”

“We must be gentle with him,” Della insisted. “I won’t encourage him, obviously, because it would be cruel to lead him on. But I can’t break his heart, either, for that would be just as cruel. He is young, he likely has never been in love before – at least, _he_ thinks this is love. We all know love is much more than infatuation, and cannot come to life in an instant. At least you know _I_ will be kind, and not take advantage.”

Sarah sighed, rolling her eyes in annoyance before briefly closing them. “It’s just … incredibly awkward, and  _so_ embarrassing, watching my baby brother drooling like an idiot over my soon-to-be mother-in-law.”

“It’s rather charming, and very sweet,” Della replied. “As for awkward, darling, you are making quite vociferous love with my son on a near-nightly basis, and I have the hearing of an owl. If you must be embarrassed, you needn’t be so on Toby’s behalf.”

Sarah’s jaw dropped, her ears burning, as Thiel elbowed his wife gently. “You minx. Let the boy get an idea of what you’re  _really_ like, besides beautiful beyond the power of words to tell, and he’ll run scared.”

“I doubt that,” Della said archly. “If he has his sister’s courage, running will be the last thing on his mind. But Sarah, if you want him to get over it quickly, I do have a maid who looks a bit like me, and she’s quite free with her favors…”

“No!” Sarah squeaked, when she realized what Della was suggesting. “No, we are not gonna … no. He’ll get over it in his own time. Jesus, Della, he’s _fifteen_ , we’re not setting him up with a maid to take his v-card.”

“Fifteen is no unusual age,” Thiel said, and then with a touch of masculine humor, “Jareth was thirteen.”

That made her eyes go wide, struck silent in disbelief, and even more so when Della explained with a sigh, “Crown princes are something of a prize, I’m afraid, and as soon as he began to express interest, there was something of a competition amongst the maids. The two biggest rivals eventually decided to share the honor. I had them both sent to the country estate, when we found out. No sense in encouraging the notion that the staff are there for such purposes.”

“Great. I always forget there’s no statutory rape laws Underground,” Sarah muttered. “No wonder he was casting eyes at me when _I_ was fifteen.”

“Weren’t you doing the same to him, despite him being so much older?” Della asked gently. “And a bride of that age certainly wasn’t unusual not so very long ago, when he was younger. Love is love, Sarah. And yes, since we know it isn’t truly love, lust is also lust. Remember that Thiel was one hundred and twelve, when I was twenty-one.”

“And carried yourself like you were your mother’s age,” Thiel muttered, but she only smiled up at him. Sarah sighed, and decided to leave the whole mess with Toby at their feet. As long as Thiel wasn’t going to demand his head on a pike, it’d have to wait. There were too many other things to worry about, like her coronation ceremony tomorrow and all that it entailed, plus the massive feast afterward where damn near all the kingdoms would have at least one representative.

She would be talking to Jareth about that little revelation, though. He’d lost his virginity at thirteen, in a threesome, for God’s sake? No wonder he was so damn cavalier! _And_ such a braggart!

 

…

 

Things didn’t settle down until very late, and Sarah curled up with Jareth at well past ten. In a realm with only candles, oil lamps, and magic for artificial light, the waking and working day was more closely related to the sun. In the darkness and quiet, Sarah lay in the circle of her lover’s arms, thinking entirely too much about the day ahead.

Toby had been given a room of his own, with Neesk keeping watch outside his door. Sarah was seriously regretting her decision to bring him Underground. He hadn’t been driven insane, and it _would_ be very nice to have one reminder of what she still considered her _real_ life in the midst of her coronation. But then he’d gone and added a whole new complication to her life.

Sarah felt the weight of responsibilities pressing down on her. She had subjects to rule, people whose lives and welfare were her concern. And Above, she had her charges to consider as well. Even Umardelin itself, she felt the kingdom around her like an immense warm duvet, blanketing her in its confidence – and yet it too needed her.

So many expectations. She was Sarah Williams, she was a fighter first and foremost, she knew she would rise to the challenge and she never dreamed of backing down. But in the last night before her coronation, doubt plagued her. It was so easy to be a _bad_ queen, so easy to fail in one of her many duties Above and Underground.

“I need a drink,” she murmured to herself. Just one drink, to settle her nerves so she could _sleep_. Trying to get through the coronation without any sleep would be a nightmare.

But she knew the potency of fae liquor too well. One glass of wine down here might be one too many, and the only thing worse than staggering through her coronation sleep-deprived would be stumbling through it hungover. No, a simple _human_ glass of chardonnay would do.

Sarah slipped out of the cushion pit with a gentle kiss to Jareth’s hair, and left him a brief note in case he woke and found her gone. _Needed to breathe the smog for a minute,_ she wrote. _I’ll be back in time, I promise. I’m not running out._ And then she headed up the corridor to her own rooms, and the mirror spelled to take her back to her apartment in New York.

Except, she’d been walking up the corridor for twice as long as usual, and her door wasn’t any nearer. Sarah glanced behind her, and saw she was only a dozen steps away from Jareth’s door. She frowned, wondering. The castle did change itself at need … and then she realized why it would. Sarah sighed, and laid her hand against the sandstone wall.

“I’m not leaving you,” she told Umardelin, and felt the whole kingdom listening, as if it held its breath in anticipation. “I will _never_ leave you. The best part of me is here, in your Labyrinth. In your castle beyond the Goblin City, in the arms of your King, in the regard of your goblins. I am _here_ , wherever I stand, and I always will be. I’ll never leave you again.”

The castle seemed to breathe around her, and Sarah felt as if there were many hundreds of eyes fixed on her. In that intense regard, she sensed a question. _Promise?_

Smiling, Sarah crossed her chest with her free hand. “I promise. Cross my heart. I only need to go Above for a little while and remember the other half of who I am. I’m coming back. I swear to you, I’m coming back in time for the coronation.”

With those words, her own door was suddenly an arm’s length away, and Sarah went to it with a whispered, “Thank you.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> No, we're not breaking up Della and Thiel's marriage. The thing with Toby falling in love at first sight started as an author's in-joke. Now it's a serious plot element with important ramifications for the years ahead. Fellow writers, spay and neuter your plot bunnies before they can breed and take over!


	31. See the Stars through Me

It was night Above, and Sarah opted for the little black dress again. Alix had told her to wear whatever she liked, but she didn’t want to look  _too_ out of place. She meant to show up as just another guest, though that plan was foiled when Ojore recognized her and waved her in ahead of the line.

Inside Imperiale, the music was already pulsing, and Sarah followed Ojore up the same narrow stair that led to Alix’s office. He took her past that door, to a balcony behind the club’s lighting system, where they could look down at the bar and the dance floor without being easily seen by the customers. Sarah looked down from the rail, curious; the crowd was mostly young, and appeared mostly human. They dressed dark and pretty, and currently they were dancing to a song she remembered from her own Goth phase.

There were several dancers up on small stages, with spotlights trained on them so their moving shadows flowed gracefully up the wall behind them. Those, Sarah guessed, were fae, their movements slightly too sinuous to be human. The bartenders had to be fae too, as employees in a critical role.

Ojore stood beside her a moment. “It is lovely, is it not?” he asked.

She smiled. “Yes, it is. This is a good place – I can feel that much, even without training. What I’d really love right about now is a drink. Let me head down there and grab a cider, okay?”

He demurred gently. “Allow me. Alix wishes to see you, and she will be up momentarily. We have several ciders in bottles. Have you a preferred brand?”

“Strongbow Cherry Blossom, if you have it,” Sarah said, and he nodded. For the moment she was alone on the balcony, looking down at the club as if into her own youth.

There was a faint shushing noise behind her, and Sarah turned to see a small elevator opening. Colleen and Alix had ridden up, and the merrow rolled her chair forward as Alix stepped out with a smile. “Welcome, Sarah,” the dryad said. “I admit, I am surprised to see you when I know you have so much to do Underground.”

“That’s why I’m here,” Sarah replied honestly, letting out a sigh. “It all got pretty overwhelming, the night before the coronation, so I decided to come up and have a drink to steady my nerves. And where better to drink than among friends?”

“We’ll make sure we don’t send you down with a hangover, at any rate,” Colleen added with a chuckle, rolling up beside her. “It’s a good night, methinks.”

“Yes,” Alix replied to them both, coming to Sarah’s other side. “And what would you like to drink?”

Sarah smiled. “Ojore said he’d get me a cider. I wanted to go get it myself – your people aren’t my servants – but he insisted.”

“No, we are not yours to command, but you are our guest,” Alix corrected. “That confers certain privileges. And our drinks should be here in a moment, in any case.”

She’d barely finished speaking when one of the bartenders ran lightly up the stairs, balancing a tray with Sarah’s cider, bottled spring water for Alix, and a cocktail for Colleen. The three of them drank, Sarah letting the slightly alcoholic cider relax her, along with the easy company.

A few others joined them, Ojore among them. Alix introduced Sarah to the group, which included her sound technician and a few of the other support staff. Most of them hung back from the rail, letting Alix and Sarah have the prime spot. They all seemed content to sip their drinks and enjoy the ambiance.

“So you find yourself overwhelmed by the notion of being queen,” Alix mused. “I can certainly see where that might require a drink or three. But barring that luxury, for you surely don’t want a hangover, perhaps we can arrange some other distraction. We did say your next lesson would be working with the ambient energy here.”

Sarah took another sip of cider, thinking about that. That was most certainly guaranteed to take her mind off things. Wasn’t that why she’d come up in the first place? Finally, she said, “I’ll try, but I’m so not at the top of my game today.”

Alix shrugged. “It cannot hurt to try. So, ground and center, first.”

Taking a deep breath, she did as requested. The ground was further away here, but Sarah found herself able to root into the sense of it even when she wasn’t touching the earth directly. She felt so much steadier after she’d done it, her concerns about the coronation no less prominent, but they seemed to sway her less.

“Good,” Alix said. “Now, feel the energy coming from the dance floor. It’s much milder than what you’re used to, with a king and kingdom at hand. It may take a while.”

Sarah tried, she truly did. Her eyes closed, her brow furrowed, she was aware only of the fae around her. Nothing from the club below. She bent every ounce of her will in concentration, and then lost the sense even of Alix of beside her. Sarah grumbled under her breath.

“Relax,” Alix told her, placing one hand atop hers. “You cannot force it. You’re not trying to re-route a river, Sarah. You’re gathering dew. Be patient.”

Sarah managed a chuckle. “I’m more stubborn than patient.”

Alix sighed at her, but there was a smile in her voice. “Let me show you.”

Her eyes opened, to see Alix’s green energy twining up her arm. That deep connection to the living earth was right there, and with it, a keener sense of the subtle power in the dancing humans below. Sarah wanted to know,  _needed_ to know, how to do magic up Above, how to do it safely, without Jareth’s theatrics or her own tendency to explosions. And patience had never been one of her virtues.

Remembering her last lesson, the way Alix had deftly slipped under her defenses, Sarah found that layer of protection in herself and tried to will it to part. At first, nothing happened. She remembered the dryad questioning her trust, and knew that wise or not, she did trust Alix. So Sarah envisioned a heavy curtain between them, and in her mind’s eye, pulled it down.

Confusion.  _Now_ she felt the gentle, steady flow of mildly-intoxicated joy from the dancers below. But she also felt Colleen and Ojore and the rest at her back, giving her their support unquestioningly, and felt her own fierce protectiveness of them. She felt a kind of love for the dancers below, and a wistfulness, that they provided so freely and cavorted so innocently, unaware of all the supernatural dangers in this world. Her own pain and mistrust was an old familiar ache, and she no longer felt bitterness to those untrammeled by cruelty. Only a kindly sort of envy. And she felt a surprising fondness for the queen-to-be at her side, who ought to be a threat or a pawn, or both, and yet her affection for the young woman was untainted by manipulation. Something about the woman’s straightforward manner, her courage, or her unflinching eyes, drew her in farther than she’d meant to go.

Sarah drew a sharp breath; those were Alix’s thoughts and feelings, as if they were her own. And the instant she knew that, she also knew that Alix could sense her as deeply. The dryad knew that Sarah counted her a friend, would fight for her at need, considered her and her people part of her own concern now. For better or for worse, there was trust between them, and an almost sisterly love. Sarah had never had a sister, never even imagined an older sibling, and the confidence in each other was surprising.

Alix carefully lifted her hand from Sarah’s, and gave her a  _look_ . “Well then. We were on lesson three, Sarah Williams, and how to meld your mind and magic with another was somewhere about lesson fifty-three. But you’re right, you’ve never been patient.”

Sarah laughed shakily. “Have I mentioned how lucky I am to be learning from you? Jareth would still be cackling about every thought I’ve ever had about him.”

The dryad scoffed. “Very lucky indeed. When you did that, I could reach Umardelin through you, if I wanted. Good thing we’ve established I want my  _own_ kingdom, not yours.”

“Mine comes with a snarky high fae king,” Sarah reminded her.

“One who is madly in love with you,” Alix added, and smiled. “Now then. Let’s see if we can do this _without_ being in each other’s heads, hmm?”

 

…

 

Sarah woke the next morning to Jareth nuzzling her shoulder and gently stroking her side. “You went Above last night,” he murmured, his voice soft and thoughtful.

“Yes, but as I told Umardelin, I came back,” she replied, stretching. Only a great fool would have honestly thought that Jareth wouldn’t have noticed. Best to just be honest and not defensive. “It’s all so … so much, Jareth. And it was suddenly much, _much_ too real. I needed a drink, a reminder of how I am outside of this, and a few minutes to process this whole coronation business. And another lesson with Alix didn’t hurt.”

“Well then,” he purred, placing a gentle kiss upon her shoulder. “I suppose you deserve both a reward for returning, and a reminder of why you chose my kingdom and I over the supposed sanity of the world Above.”

Sarah laughed. Typical Jareth, to reassure himself by seduction of her loyalties when she would wear their kingdom’s crown by nightfall. Not that she had any intention of stopping him. “Oh really? And what exactly do you have in mind, sirrah?”

“Allow me to show you, precious,” he chuckled, and did precisely that.

Afterward, when Sarah relaxed in his arms with an amused and satisfied smile, she searched for some witty remark to make about the king’s charms being his saving grace. She was interrupted, however, by a weight landing on the bed, and Neesk’s cheerful voice saying, “If you’s done, breakfast is ready an’ th’ Queen Mum sez you’s gotta get up.”

Or he tried to, anyway. He was cut off by Sarah’s shriek of alarm and dismay, and the way she snatched the blankets to cover herself almost tumbled him off the bed. Feeling her cheeks burn, Sarah almost couldn’t look her own page in the eye from embarrassment. “Neesk! Oh my God, how long have you been in here?!”

Jareth remained much calmer, though her frantic clutching at the covers had nearly exposed him entirely. “Your pardon, Neesk. Pray tell my mother we will be down directly.” The little goblin scampered off while Sarah stared at Jareth, round-eyed.

When she finally managed to string together words, her voice sounded fraught to her own ears. “Dammit, Jareth, how long was he in here? Oh my God, was he  _waiting_ for us to finish? I don’t want to traumatize him!”

Jareth fell back against the pillows with a sigh. “Sarah, love. The goblins may have  _once_ been children, some of them, but most are adults now. They do breed. Yet they are different enough from us now that they see little similarity. They are no more traumatized by the sight of you and I than we would be by the sight of dragonflies mating on the wing.”

She grumbled, grabbing her nightgown and yanking it over her head before getting out of the bed. And then, in the sitting room, there were two basins of steaming water waiting for her and Jareth to wash up. That had her stopping dead in the doorway in shock. How had she not noticed this until this morning? “Great. Either you magicked this in, or the servants come wandering in while we’re having sex, too. Has this been happening the whole time and I just didn’t notice? And don’t even try to tell me  _they_ look at us like dragonflies.”

Jareth scoffed at her, splashing his face with water. “Sarah. Welcome to life as a royal. You will rarely have true privacy. For our safety, guards sleep outside the doors, and for our convenience servants enter our rooms at all hours. They pretend not to notice what we do, and we pretend not to notice them. It is part of how this  _works_ . Would you inflict your embarrassment upon them as well, by pointing out that you know they can hear us?”

They told you in historical films, over and over, that this was the reality of court life. The best example of it she had seen was in a film about Marie Antoinette, the whole ritual of dressing for French royalty. Sarah could only be grateful that it was nowhere as ridiculous here. But just the thought that anyone could see… In the end, what could she do but sigh heavily and start her own morning routine. “Okay, so I’ve been willfully blind to it. You have a point, Goblin King. That said, it doesn’t mean I have to like it.”

“No, but you must accustom yourself to a different lifestyle than you’ve known. I do not doubt that you will change some of our traditions, my Sarai, even as you yourself must change.” Jareth laughed then. “Be glad this is not your realm some centuries ago, where you would have been expected to come to my bed a virgin, and the bloodied sheets hung out the window for all to see.”

Sarah snorted. “Historically, there were a lot of solutions for that – hide a brooch and scratch your arm, a hidden vial of blood in a pendant, or something. You’re just still pouting that you missed being my first by what, a day?”

Jareth reached out to rumple her already-tousled hair. “If you’d known what awaited you here, Sarah, you would never have bothered to dally with teenage mortal boys. And your brother would probably be a goblin.”

She only rolled her eyes. “Yeah, you still had a two-year wait, Casanova. For my will is as strong as yours…” Shaking her head, smirking, Sarah picked up a comb that was conveniently laid out next to the basin, and tried to restore some order to her hair.

After a moment of a thought forcing itself to prominence, nudging her steadily, she sighed, and set down the brush. She  _really_ didn’t want to tell him what she knew, but it had to be done at some point, before he found out by other means. And with her luck, if Jareth found out in the middle of the coronation ball, he’d probably cause a scene. “Speaking of teenagers, and my brother,” Sarah began.

“I had a man-to-man chat with him,” Jareth told her. “He seems sensible.”

Sarah gave a dry chuckle. “Yeah, so you thought yesterday. But … that was when we still thought my genius of a baby brother was crushing on Marlene. It’s a little more complicated than we guessed.”

“Oh gods, which of my unfortunate subjects is he fascinated with, then?” Jareth sighed. “If we’re lucky, she may be single.”

“She’s most definitely not single,” Sarah said, shaking her head. No point in drawing it out; there was no way Jareth wasn’t going to have vapors, no matter how she sugar-coated it. “Jareth, it’s Della. He saw Della in the hallway and fell head over heels in love. And then basically told her as much when I introduced him to her.”

Jareth had been trying to tame his own hair, and he froze, staring at her. “ _What?_ Of all the idiot adolescent… At least he didn’t choose the wife of someone who’d have his eyes put out for the insult. Good gods, Sarah, does madness run in your family?”

With that, Sarah turned from the mirror she’d been facing, turning with an arch look and crossed arms to face her lover. It was on the tip of her tongue to lash out at him, but curbed the prickle she felt to her dignity. “Yeah, we fall for people who are both crazy and crazy-gorgeous, present company fitting both categories,” Sarah shot back. “I know, I’m damn glad Thiel thought it was funny.”

“He would,” Jareth growled under his breath, and turned away to get dressed.

Sarah had to hurry back to her own room to get fresh clothes, so she made it downstairs slightly later than Jareth. Which meant she got to see him flick Toby in the ear as her brother sat at the breakfast nook. “You are a fool,” he proclaimed.

“Ow!” Toby complained, wincing away. “What was that for?”

Ignoring Sarah glaring at him, Jareth answered, “My mother. Yea gods, boy. Everything I said of Beldych goes double – nay,  _triple_ – for my father. I have seen him cleave a troll in half with one swing of his sword. Be very glad you are young enough to only amuse him.”

Toby blushed furiously, and Sarah swept in, elbowing Jareth on the way by. “It’s under control,” she said, cutting her brother a look that warned it had damned well  _better_ be. “We have a coronation to get ready for, so I need some food. And the way this is going, another drink.”

“Don’t get so sloshed you forget your lines,” Toby warned. 

“I’m not gonna get _drunk,_ ” Sarah sighed. “Just get me some breakfast and a cider and don’t do anything else stupid until I’m crowned, okay? That goes for both of you.”

The affronted looks Jareth and Toby gave her for that were nearly identical.

 

…

 

Sarah considered herself very fortunate that she didn’t have to greet the guests who were arriving in throngs. She was in a small private room off the main throne room, fully dressed in her gorgeous coronation gown, with several of the small fairies flitting about her head, placing jewels in her hair. All she had to do, for the next little while, was wait. And concentrate on not fainting, or freaking out and running screaming out the castle.

Someone tapped on the door, and slipped in before Sarah could even say she wanted to be alone. It was Toby, and one glance at her face had him hurrying to her side to hug her. For a long moment, Sarah just hugged him back.

At last, he said, “If you wanna run away, I’ll cause a distraction.”

She couldn’t help laughing. “I don’t want to run away. That’s the problem, Tobe. I  _want_ this. It’s huge and it’s scary and it’s going to change my life forever, but God help me, I want this like I want my next breath. I  _need_ it. And needing anything that bad, that’s what scares me. I’m too deep in the story now to close the book, and even if I could, I know I’d be closing off a big part of who I am.”

His arms around her waist squeezed extra tight. “Then go out and get it, Sarah. When have you ever  _not_ kicked butt and taken names to get something you really need? Dude, you’re the Champion of the Labyrinth, they’re all talking about you down there like you’re … like you’re Wonder Woman and She-Hulk all wrapped up together. Half those pointy-eared guys are  _scared_ of you. You got this.”

Sarah smiled at that, then the expression faded. Toby had been mingling with the guests? Jareth promised her someone would keep an eye on him, knowing the fae propensity for toying with mortals, but he sounded as if he’d been freely roaming among them. “Someone’s sticking by you in case anyone starts trouble, right?” she asked, arching a brow.

“Oh yeah, Thiel and Della are always right there,” he replied easily. “He was the one who showed me how to get up to this room, when I worried about you. Thiel’s made it his job to look out for me, and he does a really good angry-dad face. Better than Dad, actually.”

That earned a relieved sigh. With everything that could possibly happen in this mad day, at least there would be very little chance of a faerie-kidnap. Even the thought of possible murder if Toby kept eyeballing Della was preferable to that. “Good, he needs to be. I want you safe down here, Dorklord; how would I explain it to Karen?”

“Yeah, no, Mom would have you committed,” he laughed, then nudged her playfully. “Don’t call me Dorklord, and I won’t call you Queen of Tights, okay?”

Sarah scrunched up her nose at him for that one. “I’m not usually the one  _wearing_ the tights, Tobe.”

“No, but you’re the one ruling over the guy who is,” he pointed out, and brought forth welcome laughter from both of them.

 

…

 

The hour had come round at last and there could be no more stalling. Even though Sarah had  _seen_ the guest list, she still wasn’t prepared for the crowd in the audience chamber when she stepped out. For half a second, she felt her heart stutter, internally fighting the worst case of stage-fright she could imagine, but who could blame her? Half of Umardelin was there, along with a host of fae nobles from far and wide. Luckily, Toby was in the front row next to Thiel and Della, and her little brother gave her a quick wink before the fear could dig its claws in. Unable to stop herself, she chuckled out loud and smiled at him. Maybe it had been a good idea to have Tobe there, after all.

Sarah took a deep breath, her chin rising slightly, and strode forward to the appointed place, with Sir Didymus and Ludo on either side and an honor guard of goblins behind her. Her heart thundered in her ears, even as she refused to betray her nerves. The wise man awaited her before the throne, and Jareth stood to the other side of it.

She had seen the new throne room and approved of its design, but it was entirely different to be standing up here on the dais, all eyes on her in her official capacity. The grandeur of it left her nearly breathless.

Jareth’s voice rang out, strong and sure. “Lords and ladies, and all citizens of Umardelin, I here present to you Sarai, your undoubted Queen. Wherefore all you who have assembled to do her honor and service this day, will you do the same?”

“ _Long live Queen Sarai!_ ” the goblins and fae of her realm called back. Sarah was startled to feel tears prickling in her eyes at that. They had such confidence in her, all of them, from Beldych’s hoarse shout to the night trolls’ deep voices and the goblins’ piping cries. All of them acclaimed her in one voice, without hesitation. And suddenly, Sarah could no longer hear her traitor heart, only the ring of their voices. So many years of slipping in and out of this realm, of its magic touching her life, and now it would be her own. She would never be in fear of living without it. _You are mine, I am yours._ The phase, which had once only been used between she and Jareth, would now become a vow she shared with her kingdom, as well.

The wise man stepped up then, regarding her fiercely from beneath bushy brows. For once, the solemnity of the occasion kept his hat silent, but it bobbed its head at her in excitement nonetheless. “Will you promise and swear to govern the peoples and realm of Umardelin according to our traditions and customs?” the wise man asked.

The weight of his words, the power there, swirled around her briskly. Never had she been so aware of Umardelin as a presence, not even the first time she felt it. Never had anything felt so real. It was nearly overwhelming. “I do so swear,” Sarah replied, glad of all those acting classes allowing her voice to project and keep steady.

“Will you use your power for the cause of Law and Justice, tempered by Mercy, in all your judgments?” the wise man asked.

“I will,” she responded with the barest nod.

“Will you to the utmost of your power protect Umardelin and its people from all threats, serving your land as we shall serve you?” came the final question.

“I shall,” Sarah said, feeling an ancient strength and surety cloak her, a kind of soul-deep relief coursing through her. In this moment, she knew that this had been inevitable. This was who she was, this is what she had been meant to be, from the moment she had opened that little book with the red leather cover, with its black roses and scroll-work. The golden letters, faintly metallic, reading _**The Labyrinth**_. From the moment Umardelin had seen fit to spirit it into Linda’s path. “I as your Queen shall do all I that have promised this day, as long as I shall reign.”

Jareth gave a slight nod, indicating that the formal oath had been completed correctly, and Sarah let out the breath she was holding. Behind her came a furious buzzing of wings, as an entire flock of flower-fairies bore her mantle to her and draped it around her shoulders. Rich, heavy velvet of royal purple, trimmed in pure white ermine, it fastened at her throat with a golden clasp worked in the shape of a laughing goblin face.

This part of the ceremony was the investment of her regalia, of which the royal mantle was only the first part. Sarah received, with all due ceremony and presented by the wise man after various officials brought them forth: a sword of justice, a scepter of mercy, a crystal orb of wisdom, and finally the signet ring that symbolized her bond to the land. Its deeply carved face bore an image of the Labyrinth itself, or at least part of its stone maze, signifying her status as Champion.

Now the four goblins came forward, bearing her crown. All of them beamed toothily at her, and Sarah smiled back with affection. They were hers now, the same as Jareth, hers to care for, hers to protect. She lifted the crown reverently, and though the rehearsal version had been weighted,  _this_ one felt heavier somehow. Rich gem-studded silver, warm and lambent in her hands, and she raised it high for all to see. “With this crown, I claim my right to rule Umardelin faithfully, justly, and wisely, for as long as I may live,” she called out, and brought it carefully down upon her hair.

At that precise moment, bells tolled throughout the kingdom, trumpeters at the back of the throne room played a fanfare, cannons fired a salvo from the castle’s battlements, and every resident of Umardelin cried out “ _Long live the Queen!_ ” three times, growing louder each time. 

But Sarah heard and saw none of it. The moment the weight of the crown rested on her head, the crowd vanished. For her, the world had gone purely golden.

 

 


	32. Come Away O Human Child

Toby was watching Sarah as she carefully placed the crown on her head … but he was also aware of Thiel standing just to his left, and beyond him, Della. As a matter of fact, he was  _exquisitely_ aware of Della, whenever she was in the same room with him, which had been most of the day. The way she moved and spoke and smiled was rapidly becoming ingrained in his artist’s memory.

So he saw Sarah freeze, saw her eyes turn gold, but he also noticed Della tip her head back and take a sudden deep breath at the exact same instant. Doing so did really  _amazing_ things, with her dress’ neckline cut like that, and he couldn’t help turning his head to look.

Della’s eyes – blue streaked with gray – had turned white-golden, and her expression looked stunned. The same look was on the face of the guy standing just past her, someone called the Duke of Summer, who in Toby’s opinion talked too much. Thiel noticed it too, but he only glanced at them before looking past Toby at the rest of the crowd.

About half the people in the audience had … not quite  _gasped_ , but there was a noticeable inhale. And all of the ones who did were looking wide-eyed. Toby worried that something might be wrong, and looked to the dais where Sarah stood.

Jareth was moving toward her, without haste, but his royal mantle trailed iridescent sparks as he covered the space between them. Then he held out his hand, waiting, and of all of them, he was the only one who didn’t look surprised.

Toby still wasn’t sure, and was mentally preparing himself to jump up and grab Sarah’s hand and run for it if anything was going wrong, and then he heard Della chuckle softly. “Umardelin is as impatient as Etaron,” she murmured, and Thiel chuckled too.

Both of them plainly liked Sarah, and Thiel was as honest as a fae  _could_ be, so Toby finally relaxed, just watching to see what Sarah would do.

 

…

 

It all crashed into her at once, knowledge and power pouring into her as unstoppable as an avalanche. Umardelin, the Labyrinth,  _all_ of it. Stone maze and hedge maze, forest and bog, tunnels and city and castle. Sarah tried to catch her breath, blinded by her own kingdom. She  _knew_ , instantly, every square inch of her land as if it were mapped into her skin. No matter how the maze might change, she could never be lost now. She knew how the trees in the forest strove for the sun, and how the foulness of the bog served its own purpose, to purify the rest of the realm. She knew every room and stair in the castle as if she’d lived there all her life. She knew the goblins and the fireys and the trolls and the fairies and all the rest, felt them all living their lives in more or less harmony, knew that in general they were healthy and prospering.

She knew the hundreds of guests, could almost  _taste_ them standing in her throne room, gathering in respect and dawning interest. They were not  _of_ this realm, but they were allowed for this little while, and Umardelin tolerated them. For now.

Most of all, she felt Umardelin’s fierce joy, wrapped around her and all but audibly singing  _Mine mine mine, my Queen, my Champion, my chosen._ It nearly brought her to tears, to feel that love, and she returned it with all her might.

But that left her still blind and deaf, standing on a dais in front of an audience, and she was afraid for a moment she might stumble. Her vision began to clear, still tinged with golden power, and the first thing she saw was Jareth standing before her, offering his hand. “Be not afraid, Sarai,” he murmured softly.

“Never,” she replied, and took his hand.

Again the power welled up, this time circling around them both, gold and opal twining together. They were two voices soaring above the choir of Umardelin, and the three of them together – King, Queen, and kingdom – made a glorious harmony.

Jareth smiled. “To your throne, my Queen,” he said, and Sarah walked with her hand in his for the few steps it took. She swept the mantle aside to sit down, and Jareth took his place beside her. Their audience had clearly noticed something happening when Umardelin claimed her, and most of the gathered royalty were looking at Sarah with more curiosity. She glanced toward Toby, who discretely offered her a thumb’s-up, and at Thiel and Della who beamed at her. She smiled back at all of them. Last night’s nervousness was gone; this was her true home, her true self, bearing this crown and seated upon this throne, with this king at her side and her kingdom surrounding her.

Now was the time for the various officials to present themselves and offer her their fealty. Sarah already knew most of them, accepting their bows and oaths with warmth and sincerity. Umardelin was not a large kingdom, despite its power, and there were no titled lords of outlying lands to contend with. The few such positions were more ceremonial than anything else.

At last, Jareth called out, “Stand forth, Sir Didymus.” When the fox knight came to ringing attention before the throne, forty goblins arrived behind it, their armor gleaming. Jareth nodded to Sir Didymus, and proclaimed, “As of this day, we name you Captain of the Queensguard, with all duties and rights said position entails.” As he spoke, a pair of flower fairies arriving bearing new epaulets for the knight that proclaimed his rank, and another feather for his cap.

“Most gracious, your majesties,” Didymus replied, making a sweeping bow. Sarah grinned at him as he called his guards to attention and marched them out.

Jareth looked ready to dismiss them all for the feast, but Sarah had other ideas. “I have an appointment to make, as well, my king,” she told him, and Jareth arched his brows at her curiously. “Prince Hoggle, stand forth.”

At that name, Jareth’s eyes narrowed a little, and the dwarf himself stumped forward scowling at the title. Sarah only smirked. “My oldest and dearest friend, it is my fault that you were saddled with the burden of your title – and my will that you be relieved of it. No longer will you be Prince of the Bog. From this day forth, I return you to your post of Royal Gardener, and name you Lord of the Queen’s Garden.” She looked over at Jareth then, making her point clear; Hoggle answered to  _her_ now.

He inclined his head slightly, acknowledging her, and Hoggle gave an embarrassed bow before escaping all the attention. “If my lady queen has no further surprises in store,” Jareth said with a little smile, “we may all proceed to the royal ballroom. Refreshment is available for all, and there will be music to accompany our dancing in celebration of our queen.”

General assent greeted that, and Jareth rose with Sarah at his side. The pair of them needed a moment to divest themselves of their regalia, the gorgeous mantles and crowns not being conducive to dancing. Neither was her coronation gown, grand as it was, and as she placed her crown reverently on the velvet pillow, she asked Jareth, “So what’s your big secret plan for the second dress?”

He’d been even more cagey about that than the coronation gown, insisting that Sarah leave it up to him, and she finally thrown up her hands and let him have his way. Even now, as he smoothed his hair after removing his crown, he only smirked at her. “What second dress?”

“Jareth, gorgeous as this is, I can’t get close enough to you to dance it. We talking about this and you were impossible about it, remember?” she replied, rolling her eyes. She placed a much lighter and simpler silver tiara set with opals atop her impeccably-dressed hair; the royal crown was only for very formal occasions.

“This is Umardelin, precious. Nothing here is what it seems. Only have patience, and trust in me.” With that, Jareth drew her close and kissed her. “I love you, Sarah Williams. Even when you steal my gardener out from beneath my very nose.”

Sarah had to grin; he had to have known she had been planning that since the first of the coronation plans had been in place. To be able to do it thus, with no way for him to gainsay his new queen was icing on the cake. With a little chuckle, she nipped at his chin for that. “You made him Prince of the Land of Stench, you ass. I had to fix it.”

Jareth kissed her brow. “Technically, Sarai,  _you_ made him a prince by kissing him. I did warn him, and as fae, I must break my word.”

Ah, so he finally would admit it, though on a technicality. “You really could be a grand-standing, jealous bastard,” she sighed, standing within the circle of his arms a moment longer. Her expression was gently chiding. “Admit it, you were just mad I liked him and not you. Not that you had been giving me good reasons to, at that point.”

“Of course I was,” he replied. “Who could see you and not desire you, Sarah? Even more so, once I came to know you. And at last my plans have borne fruit, you’ve accepted my kingdom and your crown to rule at my side.”

The man did have a point, though he had steadfastly not pointed out that it had been her own choice to do all of that. Some things never changed. In the end, she let him have his victory. It wasn’t like they came easily for him these days, she thought with an impish grin. “Yeah, you’re lucky and you know it,” Sarah teased, running her thumb gently up his cheekbone.

To her surprise, there was no sarcastic reply, only an embrace and another kiss. “Come. You’ve fascinated most of the fae realms today. You must face your public now.”

 

…

 


	33. Live to Seize the Moment

When Sarah arrived at the ballroom, she froze for a moment, awed by the enormity of the space. This room was at least ten times the size it had been when last she’d seen it, and gorgeously decorated. Despite that, it was nearly full of fae, all of whom turned to regard her. She felt the weight of their curiosity, and lifted her chin proudly, claiming her place and title among them. As if her royalty were not plain enough, Neesk had left his assigned place on the dais – where he had remained at attention through the entire coronation, a feat for which Sarah intended to reward him handsomely later – to ride on her shoulder. Sarah was not just any queen, she was Umardelin’s queen, goblin page proudly at her service.

Jareth took her hand, and began walking down the short flight of steps into the ballroom itself. Sarah moved with especial care, wary of the voluminous skirts … yet with each step, they grew more svelte. She could feel the weight of the gown changing on her body, and glanced down to see its myriad-toned purple lighten, then its sudden opalescent rose color darkening as well. From lavender, to royal aubergine, to the rich gunmetal blue that was Jareth’s preferred color, and matched his own doublet.

“Of course you’d dress me in your colors now,” she murmured, smiling, as her gown transformed into something still regal, yet more suitable for mingling and dancing, without ever moving from her an inch.

“I chose purple,” he replied under his breath, “the blue is Umardelin’s work. Blue and silver are our colors, after all.”

There was no time to be surprised by that, for his parents waited for them, and Thiel bowed to his son as Della curtseyed to Sarah. Jareth and Sarah returned the courtesy, and Della stepped forward to kiss each of them on the cheek. “Magnificent, darling,” she whispered in Sarah’s ear, then drew back.

Toby was off to one side of them, a trifle shy. Sarah shot him a grin, which he returned, and he shrugged one shoulder up at Neesk. “Come hang out with me,” Toby said, “I need the company. And Sarah’s gonna be dancing, that’ll make you dizzy.”

“Sure!” Neesk chirped, and hopped across as Sarah hugged her brother.

“Thanks, Dorklord,” she whispered in his ear, and Toby laughed.

Despite all her fears that this would overwhelm him, he managed to sound normal – the touchstone to her other life which she needed, in the midst of magic. “You’re welcome. You look pretty awesome, Queen of Tights.”

She thanked him, and then Thiel was speaking, Toby stepping aside slightly. “Sarai, my son, please permit me to introduce you both to Asternon the Fleet, the High King’s Duke of Summer.” Another fae man stepped forward, giving the slightest bow, which Jareth returned more deeply and Sarah was wise enough to answer with a deep curtsy.

“It is my great pleasure to attend this coronation,” he told them, his eyes lingering on Sarah. “Sarai of Umardelin, it is plain that your kingdom welcomes you.”

“My lord, I have loved this land since I first perceived it, many years ago,” Sarah replied honestly, remembering all too well what Jareth had told her about runners. Unless they lost, and remained as its creatures, Umardelin was never seen to them again. Ever. And yet, the kingdom had left a back door unlocked and open for her. Her land had known her heart even then. “It is my very great honor to be entrusted with its crown and its love. I shall strive to be worthy of Umardelin.”

Her response must have pleased him, because he favored her with a very slight smile. “I am certain you will, your majesty.”

There were many other introductions to be made, old friends on one side and Toby on the other. Della and Thiel kept near to hand as well. The names began to blur, as Sarah was introduced to representatives of kingdoms far and wide, most of whom looked at her _very_ curiously.

“Do I have something in my teeth?” she whispered to the others with a curious frown, after the queen of Brigolla had all but stared her down while curtsying. At least the princess of the same realm had been more polite, offering them a genuine smile.

Della chuckled. “No, Sarah dear. Every sorcerer in the throne room knew the moment Umardelin claimed you for her own, and not only because your eyes turned solid gold. _All_ of us felt that, and our own kingdoms answered.”

That earned an embarrassed wince, Sarah feeling herself color at that and suddenly wanted to sink into the floor, before Jareth murmured, “I am quite jealous, love. Umardelin did not welcome me so eagerly.”

“You were thrust upon her,” Della pointed out. And then, with a wicked gleam in her eye, she added to Sarah, “Be glad she chose the moment of your crowning. Etaron was not so discreet.”

Sarah knew better than to ask, she knew it, but couldn’t resist in the end. “All right, fine, I’ll ask. You didn’t get your kingdom with your crown?” she asked.

Della leaned close to answer. “I was not crowned independent of my husband. My marriage to him made me Queen of Etaron.”

Well, that made sense, as heredity had made her Princess of Astolwyr, so she would have to marry to share his title. “Oh, so in your case, you got all that at the wedding,” Sarah replied.

Another chuckle. “Not quite. A wedding ceremony is just that, a ceremony. It is not binding until the consummation.”

The implications of that hit Sarah all at once and she could feel her cheeks burn. In the realm of things she did _not_ need to know… “Yikes. That … must have been … eventful.”

Della’s grin was positively salacious, and she lowered her voice so only Sarah could hear her whisper. “Quite. I came, he came, _Etaron_ came, and every mage in the kingdom knew of it.”

It was everything she had not to bury her face in her hands while Jareth groaned. “Mother, please, I _do_ have your hearing. Pray don’t horrify Sarah.”

“Are you still telling that story?” Thiel groused. “Ye gods, woman. It was bad enough we brought down part of the guardhouse roof, I had no idea I’d be hearing about it for five centuries. Next thing I know, that’ll be in the damned song too.”

“If you didn’t want songs sung of your prowess, Thiel my love, you shouldn’t have seduced the loveliest woman of our generation,” Della replied sweetly, while Jareth rolled his eyes at her.

Sarah had to tune out the ensuing muttering over exactly who had seduced whom, because another fae man had approached them and held his arms open to her king. “Jareth, you wretch, you always did have all the luck. Trust you to find yourself a beautiful queen whom the kingdom accepts so gladly, and not even tell any of your friends about her.”

“I was much too busy sulking over how she’d beaten my Labyrinth, and then had to audacity to return in her dreams, for any of that,” Jareth laughed. He hugged the stranger and accepted a peck on the cheek before stepping back to introduce him to Sarah, who watched this with honest interest. “Sarah, love, allow me to present King Thorvald of Yborithien, a very old and well-trusted friend.”

Sarah smiled and offered her hand, which King Thorvald bowed over, placing a kiss on her knuckles. He was a very handsome man, and something of a standout among the fae, being the only person in the room other than Thiel who sported a beard. His was long and silky, bound like his chestnut hair in complicated braids and silver charms. Up until this moment, she had yet to meet anyone that Jareth would actually call a friend, which was fascinating entirely of itself. And by the way Jareth spoke of him, and the casual manner he greeted Jareth, this was more than a friend. At least Jareth had excellent taste. “Pleased to meet you,” she told him.

“The pleasure is mine, dear lady,” Thorvald said with a slightly rakish grin. “And allow _me_ to extend an invitation for you and your king to visit us in Yborithien, with all possible luxury. My lady queen Alethia and I would be delighted to welcome you.”

Sarah opened her mouth to respond, happy to agree, and Jareth cut in. “Thorvald, I must warn you, she will not accept in the spirit you offer. Sarah and I are strictly exclusive.” Only then did Sarah realize exactly what luxuries this king meant to offer. That widened her eyes and got a startled, but flattered, laugh from her. Life amongst the fae just grew curiouser and curiouser.

Thorvald sighed, but his expression was more playful than anything else. “Well damn. I never thought _you_ of all people would make such a commitment. It’s been much too long, Jareth, and you know how Alethia loves the dark-haired ones.”

Jareth clapped his shoulder affectionately. “Sarah is worth it, old friend. And I hope you haven’t shocked her.”

“Oh, don’t flatter yourself, your majesty. I knew you had exes in half the kingdoms,” she shot back, smirking at him, only to shoot a friendly smile at their guest. “That said, I didn’t know they were quite as handsome as Thorvald here.”

“It’s the beard,” Thorvald said, stroking it possessively. “Many may sneer at such obvious proof that dwarf blood runs in my veins, but even the purest-blooded fae ladies adore the beard.”

Sarah laughed again with genuine amusement, already liking this one. Fae men were _entirely_ too charming. “I see. You have your father’s beard, then?”

“My mother’s, actually,” Thorvald replied, his eyes dancing with mirth as her eyebrows went up. “Rather the scandal for some time, that my father the crown prince wed a mountain dwarf. But she _did_ save his life, when they met, and he fell so deeply in love that he would accept no other. It helped that she was of royal lineage, herself. And she braided her beard in ribbons of our kingdom’s colors for the wedding.”

That mental image won him a large grin of appreciation. No one could say there was no diversity amongst the fae. “I bet there’s a song about them, too. Is there anyone among Jareth’s set who _didn’t_ have epic parents?”

“My parents do have a song, but it’s not the ballad that _his_ parents have,” Thorvald replied, nodding toward Della and Thiel. “Most of our little coterie were ordinary, for fae. The spoilt children of powerful nobles and royals, getting in trouble as those who only _think_ themselves adults often do.”

Jareth cut in with an arched brow. “You can only say that because you were out of the thick of it. Your mother wouldn’t allow you to go Above with us. We were a bad influence.”

Sarah couldn’t help a little snicker, thinking of Karen’s commentary on her choice of friends at times. It seemed some things were the same in every world. But Thorvald’s next words sobered her again. “She wasn’t wrong,” he said with an apologetic shrug.

Jareth too turned somber. “And we all paid the price. I am glad that you, as heir apparent, were spared.”

Thorvald glanced around, looking for the High King’s representative, then decided to stick with a safe reply. “Perhaps if I had been, I could’ve been the voice of reason. But it is a century and a half too late to speculate on what might have been, old friend.”

“Aye,” Jareth replied quietly. “I only regret the fate of the others. I was the best-served, in the end, for Umardelin decided to accept me. It could have ended very badly for me, if not for that, and for Sarah. Without her I would be cursed again, to despair.”

“Don’t be melodramatic,” she told him, nudging his side with an elbow. Any time Jareth talked about how he might’ve lost his mind and his life, a shadow fell over her. In the last moments of her second run, if she had chosen differently, if she hadn’t leapt toward what he couldn’t quite promise her … no. It didn’t happen. She was here, and neither of them was going anywhere.

Thorvald lightened the mood by patting her arm gently. “Sarah dear, he cannot be anything else. Do you remember, Jareth, the time you tried to magic your hair black for a dance, and made it all fall out? I think we heard the wailing all the way inYborithien.”

Jareth looked utterly affronted, which only made Sarah laugh yet again and twice the harder. “If you must speak of such atrocities, Thorvald, I will take my lady queen and dance away the memory,” he said haughtily, but there was a twinkle in his eye that told Sarah he wasn’t truly offended.

And thus, when they stepped out onto the dance floor hand in hand and the music started, the great ball truly began.

 


	34. O Body Swayed to Music

Sarah waltzed with Jareth again, a little smile playing over her lips at how similar this moment was to her girlish dreams. A wickedly handsome king, a beautiful gown, a rapt audience, all of those elements were there … but this was for  _ real _ , this time, and the gleam of delight in Jareth’s eye was not seduction or conquest. It was pure joy at having her here, at his side, and finally crowned his queen.

To be honest, she was just as delighted. The world Above still pulled at her – she hadn’t called the landlord yet about that faucet, and she still wondered about the Wilsons’ case and how it would turn out – but for now that call was muted. Umardelin spoke most urgently to her now.

The simple turns of the dance, with their hands clasped, let Sarah enjoy this closeness and the approving looks from the other fae as they joined her and Jareth on the dance floor. It really was a dream come true, so many gorgeously-attired couples whirling through the waltz, and herself the best-dressed of them all. After all this time, in this ballroom, the true and correct face of that corrupted, though much-longed-for, dance took its proper shape.

“Savoring your triumph, my queen?” Jareth murmured, and she chuckled.

“Yes and no. Remembering a long-past, oft-repeated dance.” At the mention, Sarah briefly raised an eyebrow, knowing he would catch her meaning, but then sobered. “If I’m honest, it’s a hell of a lot better than the Champion’s Ball,” she replied softly.

“They thought you were a curiosity, then,” he replied, his voice kept low. “And those were the young and indolent. Now we are surrounded by those old enough and wise enough to see you for what you are.”

Her lips quirked up in a grin. “And what exactly am I, Goblin King?”

Jareth swept her even closer, spinning them double-time through a flurry of quick steps. “Power, and beauty, and royalty,” he breathed against her cheek, and the girl she’d once been absolutely preened at those words.

At the end of the first dance, Jareth stepped back to bow to her, and Thiel arrived to take her hand. “Before the rest of them ask you a thousand questions,” he told her, as Della and Jareth set out to dance. Mother and son made a charming pair, and Sarah laughed again to see how alike the two of them looked. A near-perfect matched set, Jareth and Della.

After a moment of following their movement with a fond smile, she turned back to Thiel with a question in her eyes. “After the last ball, I’m surprised,” Sarah commented as they waltzed very properly. “Are they really that curious?”

Thiel scoffed. “Speculations on your possible fae ancestry, or some form of coercion to convince Umardelin to accept you, are running rampant. I have had to be rather boorish on the topic of this kingdom’s stubbornness. No one sways her with anything less than sincere stewardship. I admit, Sarah, you’ve changed my mind about this place, but I still do not envy you in the slightest.”

“At least you’ve tolerated all of it with as much kingly grace as possible. It’s just as well,” she replied with a fond smile. “If you started liking Umardelin _too_ much, we’d have to watch our backs. And that’s the last thing I’d want.”

Thiel granted her that point. “She is best ruled by two who love her. Though with you two not being married yet, the swiftest way to secure a toehold here would be to seduce one of you. That of course does not apply to me, for I am happily married to a woman who knows the fastest way to a man’s heart is a blade right through his ribs.”

Sarah almost snorted at that. “Yeah, they tried that crap at the Champion’s Ball. The most gracious way to describe my reaction was  _ not _ pleased. Which is damn understatement. Your son has too damn many exes, and they all seemed to take particular glee in attempting to take my job. Oh yes,  _ not pleased  _ doesn’t quite cover it.” She was thinking primarily of violet-haired Lyselle, who had looked so poisonously at her.

“Then I hope for their sakes they know how fortunate they are to have left here alive,” Thiel chuckled, and Sarah accepted the praise with a shrug and brief, amused bow.

The third dance was with another king, to whom she’d been introduced earlier but whose name Sarah could not remember. He had pure white hair, neatly braided down to his waist, and he regarded her with earnest interest. “You may not know, Queen Sarai, but it is very unusual for a human past childhood to adapt so well to our realm,” he told her. “You are to be commended for your flexibility of mind.”

She’d already decided not to give  _ too _ much away, but based on what Thiel had said, she knew there would be questions. And the best answer was the truth. “I dreamed of Umardelin ever since my first run,” Sarah replied. “I loved this place so much, coming back was like a dream come true.”

“Then it is to all of our good fortune that you dreamed of the fae realms,” he replied gracefully. “For we now have such a rare beauty in our midst, to be admired.”

Sarah cocked her head at that. “Come now. All fae are lovely, to be sure, and I have been in the company of Cadelinyth of Etaron for over a week. Surely that’s pure flattery?”

To her surprise, the king shook his head and answered her with what she was sure was honesty. “Etaron’s queen is a great beauty, of course. There are many like her among the fae, and which is the fairest depends on one’s taste. But you, Sarai, you are beauty refined, distilled, like liquor poured beside wine.” He smiled then, a flash of amusement in his eyes. “I do hope your king knows what a treasure he has.”

“Oh, I make certain to remind him, every chance I get,” she replied, with a winning smile.

The next few dances were full of similar questions and coquetry. Every prince and king who took her hand seemed determined to charm her, and Sarah smiled into their faces and batted her lashes while chuckling inside. The ones who hinted at how she ought to explore other fae realms, see kingdoms beyond Umardelin, brought her closest to laughing aloud. As if their intentions weren’t plain. But that realization didn’t stop her from riding high on the attention and adulation. It was sweetness itself after the failure so many weeks ago.

Luckily for Umardelin, and Jareth, Sarah was not so easily seduced.

 

…

 

Jareth seethed. As if he couldn’t see them all, trying to snare Sarah right in front of him! He kept his anger tightly leashed, not wanting it to bleed into the magic fueling the ballroom and the music. Umardelin was content, for the moment, and perhaps that was because his kingdom knew he would never let one of these gilded fools take Sarah from them both.

Thorvald had been at his side when he wasn’t dancing, trying to catch up and to lighten his mood, but Jareth was too moody to be comforted. He eventually retreated to the sidelines, a drink in one hand as he watched the whirling dancers. It was Sarah’s coronation after all, she was the one they all wanted to fawn over, and never mind that he’d  _ won _ this kingdom’s crown at risk of his own life.

“You’re brooding,” his father said, and Jareth startled, not having seen Thiel approach.

“Of course not,” Jareth replied haughtily.

“Then you’re sulking, and you’re too damned old for that,” Thiel shot back. 

Jareth bristled at first, but he could not make himself deny the charge, and sighed heavily. “These bastards are trying to court Sarah away from me, mere hours after she took her throne,” he growled. A new, worse thought occurred to him, and he added, “Or they’re trying to replace me, here at her side. I ought to bog the lot of them.”

Thiel looked around the room, and shook his head. “Sounds rather like what she told me happened at the Champion’s Ball, only you were the one they were trying to court. Haven’t you realized that petty royalty always lusts for more power?”

Grinding his teeth, Jareth met his father’s gaze. “Yes, I had women tossing themselves at my feet, but that’s nothing new. My bloodline and power cause that; breaking the curse only spawned a fresh rash of it.”

Thiel tipped his head back and sighed. “Yea gods, you are  _ so _ much our child. And so much still a  _ child! _ Do you think it was any easier for Sarah to watch those women fawning after you? Or to know you’ve had, what, ten times her lifespan to sample them?”

That gave him pause, and Jareth mulled it over. “I suppose it was unpleasant,” he replied. “But she has no reason to think I would abandon her.”

“You must be vain and arrogant, my son, being her child and mine, but must you be lack-witted too?” Thiel complained. “She is a _woman_. They _all_ think we will abandon them, at some time in their lives. Your mother has had her concerns of me, and she is Cadelinyth the Owl’s Daughter! As if there could be any better.”

“That’s all very well, but _Sarah_ abandoned _me_ ,” Jareth snapped. “She closed the door on our connection. In her dreams she said she loved me, and so feared loving a dream that she locked me out of her mind, and herself out of Umardelin! I risked my kingdom to bring her back, she ought to know I would not forsake her. I have no such assurance from her.”

Thiel boxed his ear, but gently. “Idiot. She risked her sanity to return, and her freedom to remain. What can any of these men offer her that you could not better in an instant? And even if perhaps they could, Umardelin would not lightly release her. And I do not see your kingdom sending in flocks of goblins to defend her. It must be that she is not tempted.”

He could not counter that. Umardelin was perfectly content, humming along blissfully. If Sarah had entertained the prospect of leaving, even for a moment, Jareth knew that  _ all _ of them would feel its wrath.

Which left him with one last, very selfish concern. “I still do not enjoy watching the woman I love being courted by every damned man in the place,” he growled.

Thiel patted his shoulder with a soft laugh. “Welcome to  _ my _ life, son. She is beautiful, and powerful, and  _ novel _ . Best get over your jealousy now.”

 

…

 

Sarah had just laughed flirtatiously at the fifth man to tell her how beautiful her eyes were, and the second to compare their color to sea ice. She stepped back from the dance, wanting a moment’s peace and something to cool her parched throat. All of the attention made her feel silly, like her wildest princess dreams made real, like all of Linda’s actress friends cooing over what a pretty child she’d been. It was ridiculous, in a way. None of the things that  _ mattered _ about her were on their list of compliments, but it was still very nice to be the center of such approval and attention.

She’d just started toward the refreshments when a slim hand slipped into her elbow. “Sarah, darling,” Della said, her voice light and friendly, but her eyes when Sarah met them were dark as iron.

“What?” Sarah asked, beginning to worry. What was going on? She knew Jareth had to have enemies, but he’d sworn none of them would dare make a move on such an occasion. What warranted the furrow in Della’s brow?

“Not here,” Della said, tossing a quick smile at the next dancer making a try for Sarah’s hand, and guided them both neatly away. Sarah ducked into the hall with her, bracing herself for some danger, when Della turned to her and whispered, “If you are toying with my son, I swear to you, I will make you regret it with your last breath.”

Sarah’s jaw dropped. That was the  _ last _ thing she expected, and her lack of immediate denial only sharpened Della’s gaze. And her tone, though she kept her voice quiet. “I do not think you are stupid enough to forsake Umardelin, when she loves you so. Nor would she  _ let _ you. But be warned, Jareth is not  merely the love-besotted man you know. He did not win Umardelin only to be usurped, and he  _ is _ a power in his own right.”

“Whoa, whoa, wait a second, that’s not something I’ve ever forgotten,” Sarah said, catching her hands. “Della, you’ve got it all wrong. You _really_ think I’m capable of a lot more subterfuge and duplicity than’s actually possible. I’m not playing a long con here.”

One fine fair brow arched, and Della said, “You are playing to the crowd, though. I never thought I’d see you simper, particularly not for a pack of hounds like those.”

Sarah could arch her brows too. “You’ve been a queen for five centuries, how do you  _ not _ realize what this is? I’ve watched you do it! There are plenty of people out there who underestimate him, and Umardelin. I might as well smile and flatter and flirt, and let them underestimate me, too. If there’s a game in this, that’s it. I did  _ not _ risk everything for your gorgeous idiot son just to walk out on him. I  _ love _ him, I have for years, for good or ill. I wouldn’t leave him, not now.”

Della sighed, the tension bleeding out of her. “And you speak true, I can feel that in every word. Forgive me. It seems I’ve offended Umardelin  _ and _ her queen in the span of a day.”

“Not offended, just surprised,” Sarah replied. “I figured you of all people would know this is just how the game is played.”

Della scoffed. “Ah, but it seems I underestimate you, too. Few fall so easily in step with fae political maneuvering.”

“I learned from the best,” Sarah said dryly.

With that, Della smiled and kissed her cheek fondly. “Back to the dance then, darling. I wouldn’t keep you from your admirers  _ too _ long.”

 

…

 

Despite Thiel’s advice and Thorvald’s cajoling and even his mother’s reassurance, Jareth had reached the limit of his patience. One of the sniveling bootlickers had actually dared to kiss Sarah’s hand at the conclusion of their dance, looking boldly into her eyes as he did so. Jareth was seized by the desire to bog the bastard then and there, and only the traditions of hospitality prevented him. If he were to break those and offer any kind of violence to his guests, without blatant provocation, he’d find himself on the wrong side of the High King again. Only knowing that stayed his hand.

But it could not stopper his wrath, and the kingdom felt it. Which meant the  _ goblins _ felt it. And as soon as that particular foolish prince rose from kissing Sarah’s hand so openly, he was taken aback by the sudden appearance of Neesk on her shoulder. The prince stared, and even Sarah started, as Neesk wrapped his tail around her neck.

“I thought you kept the vermin under the stairs,” the foreign prince said sharply, and the music went silent, every head in the ballroom turning. _Not_ a wise remark to make, and Jareth began to stalk over, feeling his temper’s leash fraying with every step.

“Speak not so of my subjects,” Sarah replied – no, _Sarai_ , her eyes golden and her chin tipped up. “We will hear no such slander directed at those for whom Umardelin in all her power and beauty is their homeland.”

The prince was uncertain how to respond, and in the sudden silence, Neesk’s voice carried farther than usual. “But yer queeniness … we  _ is _ vermin.”

Sarah stroked his head, her golden gaze leaving the prince who insulted him. Ever so gently, she tipped Neesk’s chin up with the tips of two fingers and met his eyes. “You are  _ my _ vermin,” she replied with maternal gentleness, then glared at the prince, all patient kindliness leaving her. “And no one disparages what is mine.”

“ _Yeah,_ ” Neesk growled, baring his teeth.

“Spoken like a true queen,” Jareth purred, and the prince made his bow and his apologies hastily. 

Thorvald arrived at Sarah’s side, and a princess at Jareth’s, so they danced the next measure apart. Everyone was on their best behavior now, having once given offense, and Jareth chose to bide his time, for another measure at least.

But the moment he could get Sarah alone, he would.

 

…

 

All the ruffled feathers had been soothed, and every dancer since Thorvald had been particularly courteous. Sarah savored that. Let them look at her, let them scheme, but they’d better not insult her kingdom or her goblins. Neesk had disappeared as soon as she took Thorvald’s hand, content that she was safe, and that thundery feeling in the ballroom had completely disappeared.

So she was utterly unprepared when Jareth took her hand again, and swirled them both out of the room in a shimmer of opalescence. Sarah started to ask him what the hell was going on, but he pinned her to the wall of what looked like a storeroom, and kissed her greedily. His hands gripped her waist, then slid up to cup her breasts.

Sarah gasped in shock, yet still returned the kiss with equal fervor. She gripped his lapels and arched into his touch, as Jareth growled. His magic swirled around her, touching her skin despite the dress, as if his hands were  _ everywhere _ . And then he did let his hands glide down, rucking up the skirt, his nails almost biting into her bare thighs.

She had to draw back for air, and met his eyes gone iridescent. “ _ You are  _ _**mine** _ _ ,” _ Jareth snarled, and claimed her mouth again just as savagely. 

In the heat of the moment, bound up in the sinfully-good feeling of him on her and all around her, Sarah let herself be swept up in the maelstrom until breath fled again. Panting hungrily, she pushed him a hands-breadth away to look at him with chiding eyes. To think that he, of all of the beautiful and vain creatures that surrounded them tonight, could believe she could want another. That he could foolishly think that now, after the temptation of him for so long and this world that now included them both, that she could have ever dreamed of leaving everything she had ever wanted. “What did I tell you? Sex doesn’t equal ownership, you demanding, vain,  _ jealous _ bastard,” she gasped against his mouth, looking up at him with what she knew was challenge and need in her eyes. “Are you really mad enough to think that I would even consider replacing you? You  _ owe _ me, Jareth. After every trick you’ve pulled all this time, you owe me every single night we have for the rest of my life. You’re stuck with me now, Your Majesty.” This time it was her kiss that devoured, fingers curled tight into his hair, pressing herself into him just as boldly.

He hummed against her mouth, pushing her tightly against the wall so she could feel how much he wanted to repay her. When he could speak, Jareth buried his face in the curve of her neck, his breath hot. “And yet you are mine just the same, Sarah, Sarai, dreaming and waking, foe and Champion and Queen, mine as I am yours, mine for all time.” And then he bit her, with passion and only as much gentleness as was necessary, his teeth writing his possession into her skin. “You’d best be certain this is what you want, for I would never let you go now. You are too perfect, for Umardelin and for me and for yourself.”

“As are you. Too late now, too late for us both, Goblin King.” That had her biting his lower lip, though not as roughly, one hand slowly raking her nails down his back under his gorgeous coat. The urge to do this here, now, where anyone could find them, burned in her, daring her to give in. “You seduced me with every temptation a dream could give, you made me love you until I questioned my sanity, then drew me back in when I wanted no part in this. It’s only forever, you said. Do you think you can love me that long, Jareth?” It was her husky whisper in his ear now, reveling in the scent of him, clutching him closer. Store room or not, ball or not, crown on her head and decorum a must, Sarah found herself hard put not to tear at his clothes right now.

“I can love you as long as we both draw breath, and I will,” he promised, seizing her in another kiss. They were both lost in a haze of heat, her name on his panting breath when he drew back for air.

She felt Umardelin’s presence around her, but for the moment, her king had more of her attention than her kingdom. This was the union Umardelin wanted anyway, wasn’t it?

And then a weight landed on her head, almost knocking the tiara askew. “Yous gots guests,” Neesk said apologetically. “An’ they’s gonna wonder where yous is.”

Sarah yelped in surprise, nearly dislodging him, and Jareth swore. Neesk squeaked and clung to her hair, whimpering, “Sorry!”

It took Sarah a moment to catch her breath, taking a deep breath to slow her racing heart. He  _ had  _ to stop doing that! With a gentle hand, she reached up to stroke the top of his head, letting him know that all was well, glancing at Jareth to let him know the fire was well and truly out for the moment. “Shhh, it’s all right, Neesk. You just surprised us, is all,” Sarah said, her cheek flushing crimson.  _ How _ many times were they going to be caught in the act?

“Much as I hate to admit it, he has a point,” Jareth grumbled. “It seems our kingdom will not permit us to embarrass her by going missing during your coronation ball.”

She managed to chuckle at that. Little as she liked it, their land did have a quite essential point. The ball, and the night, could not last forever. And he was always worth the wait. She could bear a few hours more. “Well then, I suppose we have our summons. Shall we get back to it, Your Majesty?” Her grin was absolutely impish as she raised her chin imperiously and held her hand out with all the daintiness of her new station.

His answering smile was positively wicked as he stepped back and took her hand. “Yes, Your Highness. We shall let them all admire what a magnificent queen Umardelin – and I – have.” And that had Sarah laughing gaily.

 

 


	35. Tell Me What We Choose

The hour was late, and even so it was earlier than it felt. There had been much dancing, and feasting, and more dancing to work off the effects of wine and rich food. Sarah felt as if her coronation ball had lasted several days, when the clock said otherwise.

She’d made a good impression, she thought, and she was overjoyed with the whole ball, if thoroughly exhausted. Once a certain feather-head king got a few things through his thick skull, he was happy, too, and just as tired. Their guests were seen to by servants, most leaving the same night, but Della and Thiel remained, and Toby had a room of his own. At last Sarah and Jareth retired to his rooms, their steps dragging by the time they ascended the stairs.

Once in the door, she leaned against him for a long moment, sighing. “I know,” Jareth whispered, stroking her hair. “Much as I should like to establish a vigorous connection between us as monarchs, I fear I haven’t the energy.”

“Me either,” Sarah murmured against his shoulder. “I’d give you hell for it, but I don’t think I could manage, either.”

“It has been a long day,” he replied softly, and gathered her close. They forewent their usual hot-blooded evening, and simply undressed before tumbling to bed. Or more correctly, to the cushion pit, where Sarah often preferred to sleep. She dozed off in Jareth’s arms, sleepily aware of her crown gleaming from its pillow atop a table.

Deep in the watches of the night, Sarah awoke to the feeling of eyes on her. Jareth was awake also, his gaze fixed on her. “Hello, precious.”

“Hi,” she yawned, giving him a sleepy smile of contentment. Reaching out to run her thumb over his lips, Sarah arched one eyebrow slightly. “What’s going on in that brilliant mind of yours, Goblin King? I thought we were both exhausted enough to sleep for days.”

“As did I. But I find myself feeling … incomplete.”

Sarah chuckled rustily. “Oh, Jareth. If this is about us not having sex, I promise, you won’t die. It’s just a rain check, your majesty. And, if you remember rightly, _you_ were the one who claimed exhaustion first.”

“Not that. Sarah … you love me, do you not?” That woke her fully then. The sincerity of the question stopped her from making a flippant reply; even with her, Jareth rarely sounded so vulnerable.

She gave him a worried look then, moving her hand up to caress his cheek with the back of her hand. Something was wrong here; why would he ask this now? “Jareth. Yes, I love you,” she answered, as honestly and plainly as she could. “I’ve loved you since before I even understood it.”

“And you do not regret choosing me? Even though my kingdom and I have merrily turned your life upside-down?” There was a plaintive note in the query.

Sarah sat up, and leaned over to kiss him soundly. When she had to stop for breath, she pulled back to look him in the eye. “No, I don’t regret. Not for a moment. Jareth, I wasn’t wholly _me_ without this place, without you. I love you. I’m glad to be here. You and Umardelin can complicate my life all you want. It’s worth it.”

Jareth kissed her back, his lips lingering sweet upon hers. “And you would not change your fate?”

“No,” she laughed softly, slightly surprising herself with how quickly the answer came. “God help me, I like this crazy life you’ve dragged me into. I’m damn glad you managed to get me back to believing again. I’d be, and was, an idiot to give this up. Now what’s got you all fluffed up?”

Jareth wavered, and then turned away from her. He gestured toward a small chest, one of its drawers opening, and a little wooden box floated out of it. Sarah only looked on with curiosity as the box came to Jareth’s hand.

And then he opened it, showing a pair of gold rings set with large opals, worked to resemble leaves and flowers. Sarah caught her breath at the beauty, and Jareth asked softly, “Sarah Williams, will you marry me?”

She raised stunned eyes to his, utterly at a loss for words. It was unbelievable that, of all of the things that could be keeping him awake, this had been the ‘why’. It both awed and terrified her. Of course they’d spoken of it, but it had never truly seemed possible. Any more than her being Queen of Umardelin, her mind retorted helpfully. Wasn’t that funny?

Somehow, after all this time, after all of the dangers and hardships, it was difficult to believe that she found herself here, at this moment. They had come so very far from that day in the park, a silly little girl unknowingly reciting from an enchanted book to the very being about whom it had been written. How could she have ever known the future she had set into motion? Or how she would come to see that very man and how many sides there were to every story? Or how many there were to herself?

So many memories there, so many here and in their own little world, Sarah’s vision blurring a bit. “I … I thought we were … going to wait?”

“I do not mean to wed you tomorrow,” he said, gently chiding. “Only to make the betrothal official. We planned for an engagement that will last years, and this changes nothing. I only wish to have the proof of our promises made tangible.”

Sarah stopped to look at him, then laughed in spite of her misty eyes. “I didn’t mean for you to make it sound more like a business arrangement, Jareth.”

“We are King and Queen of Umardelin. Marriage between us carries unmistakable political overtones,” he reminded her. “Still. I want to see my ring on your finger, and its mate on my own. Do you not wish the same?”

“Are you determined to take the romance out of it?” she said, half-pleading.

“I tried romance, you reminded me we’d agreed to wait,” he responded, shifting against her. Jareth silenced any further questions or protests with a long kiss that warmed her to her toes, drawing back at last to catch her gaze intently. “Once and twice and thrice, I ask thee, Sarah Williams. Wilt thou marry me?”

“Well enough,” she chuckled, her eyes emerald-bright in the dim room. “Yes, and yes, and _yes_ , Jareth of Umardelin. Yes, I will marry you.” With those words, she dragged him down to her, her lips hungry on his.

He held her off only long enough to slip the rings on, and when they both wore them, Sarah gasped quietly, wide eyes swiftly coming up to his. When she’d been given the Key to Umardelin, she became aware of the kingdom as if it were part of herself, and the connection only deepened with her crown. Now she felt  _Jareth_ the same way, his regard for her, his concerns, his deep satisfaction that she’d chosen him.

Sarah might have asked questions about that, but his primary emotion at the moment was triumphant lust, and she gladly let it sweep her away.

 

…

 

When morning finally dawned, it caught them both abed, but the sun eventually woke Sarah. And her moving woke Jareth, who nuzzled her with a happy groan. Eventually they made it down to the kitchen, where Della and Thiel were already breaking their fast on scones and hot tea. Toby was at the table, muzzy-headed but awake enough to demolish some scones. Beldych made certain a tray was ready for the monarchs, and as the chef held it out with a gracious nod, Sarah dipped her own head in thanks, taking her mug and scone gratefully.

She’d taken the scone in her right hand, which meant she sipped coffee with her left, and the opal caught the light. Della saw it, her gaze flashed to Jareth’s left hand, and her face went utterly blank. Even her mug of tea went crashing to the ground, startling Toby, and the look she turned on Jareth was full of complicated sorrow.

“Della, what’s wrong?” Sarah asked, worried anew. She genuinely _liked_ her soon-to-be in-laws, but seeing Della – who was normally of cheerful mien – react so negatively worried her again.

“It is only the betrothal, Mother,” Jareth said with great gentleness. “We have some years before we wed, and I would not rob you the chance of planning a grand ceremony.”

“I know that,” she replied, flustered. A scullion rushed over to clean up the shattered ceramic, but she swept it together and into his dustpan with an distracted flick of magic. “My apologies, son. I know what this means, and I knew it was coming. It is still … something of a shock.”

Thiel put his hand on her shoulder for a reassuring squeeze. “To be fair, neither of us thought you’d  _ever_ marry. Nor that you would choose a human lover. Yet we both know Sarah, and there can be no better match for you in all the realms that ever were.”

The high praise mingled with a sense of grieving finality, and she looked to Jareth with concern. “What’s going on? Jareth, I would’ve thought they’d both be happy.”

Della’s breath came sharply. “You still haven’t told her?”

“No, for we were rather distracted,” he spat back. “Besides which, she will not like it. I had to ask her thrice for her to even answer me.”

His mother crossed her arms, and the deep steel of her nature showed now. “So you hid it from her? As if  _that_ would ever work, with a woman of her caliber. To place the ring upon her finger before giving her the whole truth is shameful cowardice, son. You dishonor your father and I, to behave so. Tell her,  _now_ .”

“I will,” he hastily replied, “but _without_ your ever-so-well-meaning assistance. Sarah, come with me.” He caught her hand and fairly dragged her aside, ending up in a storeroom full of boxes and barrels that smelled of dust and spice.

“What is it?” Sarah demanded, catching his shirt and staring up at him. She could _feel_ the wrongness, now. She was upset, not angry, but she’d never seen Della snap at him like that before. There was something horrible connected to all this.

Jareth ran a distracted hand through his still-rumpled hair. “This pledge … it is no mere words. To be engaged, among the fae, has more meaning. Our powers are more mingled that ever before, as is everything else.”

She hunched her shoulders against those words. The memory of that flash of sudden insight into his feelings last night came back to her, Sarah’s thumb unconsciously moving to stroke the ring’s surface. Dread pooled in her stomach at the implications. “What exactly do you mean by that?” she asked carefully.

Jareth sighed, hot breath carrying his frustration away. He was struggling with this, whatever it was; his body language and expression made it plain, but she could also feel his turmoil. He was most worried about how she would take this, Sarah could tell that much. “I pledged my troth to you. My ring on your finger, the key to our kingdom around your neck, her crown atop your head, you and I are bound in love and in magic. And in life. Do you not feel the power you draw from the Labyrinth when you work little magics here and there? As the land draws from you as well, your memory, your experience, your innovation.”

“You’re obfuscating,” Sarah said, reaching up to catch his chin and make him look at her, heart leaden in her chest. “Jareth, stop. Please. Just tell me what you’re trying not to say. Use your right words.” Her look at him was significant, willing to him to tell her what he hadn’t before.

“You and I, we draw our lives from each other as well,” he finally said. “Your mortality allows me to visit your realm more easily. You have become my passport, as it were. And my immortality is shared with you, now.”

“Shared _how_?” Sarah demanded, dread coiling in her heart. This was the crux of it, what he hadn’t wanted to tell her.

“You will become stronger, fleeter, and more enduring, as well as more certain in your magic. You will resist poison and heal wounds swiftly, though you may become sensitive to iron in time.” He paused, glancing at her, and sighed yet again. “You will live a very long time, Sarah, and like the fae you will not age unless you wish to. I imagine you will never look much older than you do now; it is possible you may even grow younger, as the magic courses through you.” 

Another long pause, while she stared at him, and Jareth looked away, as if the words he needed were written in the warm sandstone walls. His voice dropped to a solemn murmur. “When you die, centuries from now, I will follow you. You are no longer quite mortal, and I am no longer entirely immortal.”

Ice flooded her veins then, chilling her to the core. “ _No,_ ” Sarah said immediately, shaking her head in panicked denial. In all of her research, all of those years guarding herself from any possible fae persuasion, she had never even considered anything that might be a danger to _him_. Her vision blurred as the reality of their current situation overwhelmed her, fighting a sob. “ _No._ _Absolutely not_. I refuse that. Take it back, Jareth. I mean it, _take it back_. There has to be a way–” Her hand went to the ring, as if by yanking it off she could reverse this process.

Jareth caught her hands and stilled them, staring at her with his voice harsh and his eyes storming with opalescent fire. “If the bond between us is severed, then yes, I will have eternity again. Why should I desire that? What is eternity without you? My Sarah, my Queen, my love. Give me half a millennium with you at my side, and I will gladly forsake the rest of time.”

“I don’t want you to die for me!” she exclaimed, unable to stop the tears that came, tugging her hands away and cupping his face. That impossibly beautiful face, so arrogant and so charming. Sarah couldn’t imagine a world without him in it. More, didn’t want to. There had to be a way, between the pair of them… 

“The choice is mine, and I have made it,” the Goblin King told her, in that tone of regal proclamation that brooked no argument. She felt his resolve, his will stronger than iron, and knew that he at least had pledged to her knowing this would be the result. “Do not grieve for what I might lose, Sarah. Rejoice for what we both stand to gain.”

She could only look at him in heartbreak. No wonder Della had reacted so; the ring on his finger meant her only son, who in the normal manner of their kind would be immortal as she, was going to  _die_ . “So in the end, loving me is going to kill you,” she said, her voice tear-choked. “Great. All the classic romances end with a body count. Why not ours?”

He stroked her cheek. “Sarah. I would be lost without you, and likely dead ere long. You know this. Had I failed to break the curse, we both know I would’ve followed my predecessor eventually.”

“We don’t _know_ that,” she protested.

“I do,” he replied. Their bond told her he spoke truly. “I had oft contemplated ending it, before you came. My pride sustained me. The ignominy of being so slain, or the humiliation of taking my own life, both offended me too much to entertain seriously.”

Sarah wanted to fight it, so badly, but he’d implied as much before. As selfish as her act had been, wishing Toby away, there had been a actual reason for it. His words to her in her second run made perfect sense now. He, and the Labyrinth, had shaped her as she was. It had made her a better sister, a somewhat more sensible girl, more aware of others and their feelings. Made her fight for what she wanted, even if she had believed it only the stuff of dreams. Made her believe in herself the way she had only played at in the past.

And the foolish words that had crossed her lips in her parents’ mirror, in jest, to Jareth’s amusement, ‘And what no one knew was that the King of the Goblins had fallen in love with the girl,’ had become the truth. To such a degree that she stood here now, his ring on her finger willingly, weeping over her part in the loss of his immortality. How little she had known, how little she’d understood, so long ago. Even now, even here, she couldn’t regret seeing that beautiful white barn owl perched above her in the park. He’d been right; from that moment, as soon as she had spoken to him, their lives had changed in ways that neither would have any choice over. For good or ill, it seemed that the Fates had planned this all along.

The memory, the one so crystallized in their minds that it had been his way back to her after all the damage she had caused to his magic, and she really had done so, came back to her as it had so many times. Tears still glistening on her cheeks, she sang to him softly with a bittersweet smile, reaching up to touch his face. “But I’ll be there for you, as the world falls down.” She sniffled then, pulling him into her arms, holding him to her as tightly as she could, as she could stop time with just her embrace. “I love you. I love you; I’m sorry, Jareth. I’m so sorry.”

His embrace was just as strong, and he nuzzled her hair. “That is all I ask, Sarah. I love you. And I am not sorry. Eternity pales, with no one to share it.” A short laugh, and he added, “Besides, we have centuries yet. It is not as if we will die three days into the relationship, like some of your love stories.”

“You just stop it,” she said, hitting him lightly in the chest, but not moving away in the slightest. With a deep sigh, the newly-proclaimed queen just stayed close until her silent tears dried, her sobs soothed. 

Then, once Sarah had calmed, they had to return to the kitchen, where Thiel was pouring something stronger than tea into a new mug. Toby looked somewhat more awake, though bemused, his eyes following his sister with clear curiosity.

Della came to her feet immediately on seeing them, and went to Sarah, cupping her still-damp face. “Sarah, darling, I do not blame you,” she said intently. “ _Never_ think that I am not delighted for you both, do you understand?”

“Yeah, well, I’m not particularly thrilled about the end result. I can’t imagine you would be, either.” Sarah managed in a wavering voice. “If I’d known that I never would’ve picked up the book.”

“Or played it out in the park, reciting lines to barn owls,” Jareth added in a tone far more off-handed than Sarah liked. His queen shot him a quelling look as she hugged Della.

Thiel scoffed. “And we would still find ourselves barred from all but the shortest visits, while Jareth languished here, resenting his rule because it was forced on him. I have seen my son happier since you returned, than I have since he was a child. I will take that and be glad of it. All things come with a price, Sarah.”

“That’s the thing, Thiel. I should be the one paying the price,” Sarah said stubbornly. “I was the one who started all this. I was the one who made the choice.”

“You are, Sarah,” Jareth told her very seriously. “You have to put up with _me_ for the next several centuries.”

That brought her eyes up to his in a furious frown. Though she knew what he was about, trying to use dark humor to goad her out of her melancholy, Sarah was about thirty seconds from snapping at him. This didn’t make it any easier to take. Toby spoke up before she could. “They gave me the Cliff’s Notes. So, basically you’re getting immortality light? Sweet package deal, Sare.”

Ah, the complete lack of comprehension in teenage boys. The tragedy of the situation would completely elude him. Clearly the full ramifications hadn’t yet sunk in. Sarah opened her mouth to protest, giving her brother a pained look, when the Goblin King overrode her. “At the cost of my eventual death,” Jareth reminded him. Again, that cross look from her, Sarah actually elbowing him sharply this time.

“Yeah, you don’t look too upset about it,” Toby said, sipping his tea. “Guess my sister’s worth it.”

Again, Sarah tried to cut them off. “Enough of this, the both of you…”

“That she is,” Jareth replied as if she hadn’t spoken. “Immortality does pale, after enough time. Many fae do choose to die, even if not compelled to it.”

Toby shrugged. “Some of us still have to make due with ninety years or so. You’re already lucky.”

Thiel nudged Sarah, and told her, “Now you know why you are unable to meet his grandparents on my side. They were married for seven centuries, and in the end, she survived him by only four days. Just long enough to arrange for his funeral and her own. My mother always did love to plan things down to the very minute.”

“Seven centuries ought to be enough time to teach you some manners,” Sarah told Jareth, giving up and joining the attempt at levity. All of them chuckled, though there was a desperate edge to the sound. It was a better means of dealing with the new knowledge than being maudlin about it, though Sarah still wondered in the back of her mind how both of his parents could’ve managed to be so welcoming to her, knowing all the while what it would mean if Jareth wed her.

Toby polished off another scone, and looked at them all thoughtfully. “I can’t wait to see Mom’s face when you tell her you’re already engaged.”

Sarah could only look at him flabbergasted, while Jareth arched his brows in surprise. No one was thinking of the world Above just at the moment. “Tobe?” Sarah managed.

“We’re still on for meet-the-boyfriend Sunday dinner, right?” he reminded her with a smirk. “Dude, Mom and Dad are both gonna be over the moon about the ring on your finger already.”

“I think we’ll glamour that away,” Jareth said with strained dignity. “I’d rather not explain that I’ve known you much longer than they think.”

“Yeah, the whole dreams thing would probably freak ‘em out,” Toby laughed. “Do you _really_ think you can play normal for a whole dinner, King Glittertights?”

Jareth narrowed his eyes. “Mind your tongue, young man, or I’ll see  _you_ spangled and sparkled for weeks.”

Meanwhile Della and Thiel shared a  _look_ , as the young mortal tweaked their son’s nose with impunity. They were both quite fond of him already, and his mischievous teasing only amused them despite being at Jareth’s expense.

“Knock it off,” Sarah sighed, raking a hand through her hair. “We’ll cross that bridge when we come to it, Tobe. For now, somebody please _feed me_. I had a helluva long day yesterday and a morning full of not-so-good news. I need caffeine. And sugar.”

“If your brother has not devoured the entire larder,” Jareth said archly, and Toby rolled his eyes.

 


	36. See My Story in the Cards

The first order of business that morning, before heading back Above, was to spend a little more time with her allies. Sarah hadn’t seen as much of them all as she’d wanted during the chaos of her coronation, and she needed to make sure that the three still knew she was their friend first, their queen second.

For this excursion, Sarah headed into a part of Umardelin she’d never seen in all her visits. The goblin city surrounded the castle, and she’d always come in or out via the main road that lead down past the junk heap and the bog, into the forest and then the hedge and stone mazes.

As it turned out, there was another part of the city, hidden  _ behind _ the castle from the point of view of a runner standing at the entrance. The junk heap wrapped around on one side, the forest on the other. The land sloped downward gradually, leading to huge open fields and meadows on the borders of the forest.

On the one hand, it made sense. When inside the Labyrinth, Sarah had never been able to figure out where all the parts of it were in relation to the others, partly because it kept changing on her. And from outside it, this area was hidden. Still, she stood at the top of the hill and frowned. “How did I never know this was here?”

“Runners can’t get in,” Hoggle told her, stumping along at her side. “If’n they gets around toward this side, the Labyrinth moves itself so they always come on by the city. You can’t even climb the walls to get here. The only way in is from the castle.”

“Quite right, your lordship!” Sir Didymus piped up, and Hoggle rolled his eyes at the use of his new title. “And wisely so, my lady queen. Imagine the chaos if runners could get into the very fields that feed the realm.”

Sarah nodded slowly. She could feel this place as part of her senses being attuned to the kingdom, and knew what it was for. Someone had to grow the grain and crops, and pasture the animals, that graced the castle’s tables and fed the city. And the Labyrinth had always been tricky about dimensions. The fields before her looked much too big to fit inside the walls she’d first seen as a bratty fifteen-year-old, but then, nothing was ever quite what it seemed here. “Umardelin protects herself,” she murmured.

“Kingdom good,” Ludo put in. “Kingdom strong. People safe.”

“Yeah, from everything _outside_ ,” Hoggle muttered. “There’s still a giant snake around somewhere. And worst of all, the goblins. You ain’t never seen ‘em drunk.”

“We are more than a match for any foe,” Sir Didymus proclaimed. Ambrosius only hung his head.

Sarah, Ludo, and Hoggle walked, while Sir Didymus rode Ambrosius, down through the fields. People of all sorts were out working in them: some humans, a lot of dwarves similar to Hoggle, and some of the larger goblins as well. Sarah saw other kinds of fae for which she had no names yet, but didn’t want to interrupt them to ask. It was bad enough that everyone who saw them stopped to bow and doff their caps. Sarah waved, and hurried, and felt a little like an actress who’d forgotten her lines. There were well-trodden footpaths and little streams, a few outbuildings and even a mill crossing a larger waterway. Eventually they came to a quiet meadow, and Sarah decided to have their picnic there.

Hoggle was hot and tired enough to simply flop down with a groan, while Sir Didymus and Ludo spread out the picnic blanket. They’d forgone servants – in a magical kingdom, the monarch was generally quite safe to go among the public, so there were no guards either. Just the four of them, five counting Ambrosius. Ludo had easily carried the picnic basket, and they settled in to eat.

“Reminds me of the old days,” Sarah sighed.

“Ah yes, many an adventure was had amongst us,” Sir Didymus replied.

“Friends fun,” Ludo added.

“Yeah, there was the time you all got stuck in a carnivorous tree,” Hoggle replied, grimacing. “Oh, and the time you got attacked by a swarm of flower fairies. Or the time you fell into the canyon of vines and got tangled up. Yeah, great fun.”

“Ah, but we surmounted those challenges!” Sir Didymus insisted. “With your valiant guidance, I might add. Who else amongst us would know the tree was ticklish?”

Hoggle scoffed. “You three pulled me inta more trouble an’ more danger than I’ve ever been in my whole life. Not to mention, half the time Jareth was out to get us, too!”

Sarah smiled. “Out to get  _ me _ , more like. You guys live here, I was the intruder. And he was none too happy about Umardelin letting me come visit after my run.”

Sir Didymus polished off his sandwich, and said, “Our differences with His Majesty are behind us. Surely you appreciate our adventures? You certainly proved uncommonly brave, Sir Hoggle.”

The dwarf just rolled his eyes. “Somebody had to save the lot of you. Somebody with sense. You three’d just get in worse trouble. I learned  _ that _ with Sarah on her first run. ‘Piece of cake’, remember?”

She grinned at that. “Well, you were right about one thing. I certainly  _ did _ get his attention.”

Hoggle leveled a steely look at her. “I know I was. Which reminds me. You bring us out here for a reason? Maybe so’s you can explain that ring on your finger?”

She should’ve known Hoggle would notice any new jewelry, and Sarah  _ had _ intended to tell her friends about the engagement. If only it would be so easy to explain. Well, one could never just  _ tell _ Hoggle anything, anyway. Especially when one knew all-too-well that disapproval would follow. One dark brow arching, Sarah gave a little laugh. “What makes you think it isn’t a piece of regalia Jareth added after? I was crowned Queen, remember?”

Hoggle rolled his eyes. “Uh-huh, and all yer royal regalia was handed over at the coronation. That’s why it’s regalia, ‘cause you get invested with it and stuff right then. That’s a betrothal ring, ain’t it?”

Sir Didymus sat up, peering at the ring. “My word! My lady queen, are you betrothed to the King? I never … er, I mean, congratulations.”

Ludo cocked his head at her. “Sarah get married,” he said, and it was a statement of fact, not surprise or consternation.

“Not yet,” Sarah said, suddenly breathless with trepidation, her brow furrowing in worry. “Yes, we’re engaged. But the wedding is a _long_ way off, like as long as we can make it.”

“You know what you’re doing?” Hoggle demanded.

“Yes,” Sarah began, but he cut her off.

“You know once you marry ‘im, you can’t go back Above,” he said flatly. “Not for long, anyway. Umardelin’s playin’ nice lettin’ you go back even now, bein’ Queen. But once you marry a fae, you’re stuck with him for the rest of your life. Speakin’ of life, you know you’re gonna live like halfway to forever, right?”

“I know,” Sarah said softly, the thought casting a chilly pall over the day. “And I know it means he’s _not_ going to live forever, which is giving up a lot.”

Sir Didymus broke in again. “For the honor of marrying you, my lady, he ought to be grateful he had to sacrifice so little.”

She looked around at all of them, her eyes troubled. Here, with her friends and allies, Sarah could finally speak aloud the nagging fear at the bottom of her heart, the one she hadn’t quite dared voice to her king and his family. “This is a big deal, guys. He’s giving up immortality for me. What if it turns out  _ not _ to be worth it? Jareth had  _ forever _ , literally the rest of time, and he gave it up for me. What if he regrets it? What if something comes along and kills us both tomorrow? What if it costs him his magic, too, since that comes from being fae and he’s taken part of my mortality in this?”

They stared back at her, Hoggle doubtful, Sir Didymus worried, and Ludo steady as ever. At last it was the night troll who reached out, and put one massive paw on Sarah’s shoulder. “Jareth love Sarah, Sarah love Jareth,” he said in that low, rumbling voice, and the proclamation sounded as real and eternal as the stones his voice was meant to call. “Love  _ makes _ worth it. No matter what comes. Love makes forever.”

That was the longest speech any of them had ever heard from Ludo, and Sarah fell against his shoulder with a sigh. The huge night-troll wrapped his furry arm around her and hugged her gently.

Sir Didymus patted Sarah’s knee. “Sir Ludo is quite right. If you love him, and he loves you, this is the way it must be done. And whether you live a thousand years or a handful of days, you will love one another for the rest of your lives. That is all one can ask of love, that it last as long as breath does.”

Sarah felt tears welling up, and took the fox-knight’s hand, smiling tremulously at him. Of course, Hoggle chose that moment to grumble, “Buncha soppy garbage.”

Ludo groaned, Sir Didymus called his name chidingly, and Sarah only laughed, dashing the tears from her eyes. “You cynic,” she teased.

He wrinkled his considerable nose at her. “Love, schmove. You got your crown, you ain’t gotta marry him, except I guess you want the kids to be all legal an’ proper an’ stuff.”

Sarah blinked at him. “Did you just bring up  _ babies _ , Hoggle?  _ He  _ hasn’t even brought that up yet!”

The dwarf scoffed and rolled his eyes. “Well  _ duh _ . There’s gotta be a royal succession, ain’t there? An’ fae don’t have kids easy, so’s you better get to trying soon. Might be easier, you bein’ human. Either way, I’m sure he won’t mind the tryin’, fancy ponce like him.”

Sarah was nearly howling with laughter by then, his frank practicality utterly unexpected, but Sir Didymus drew himself up and took some offense. “Such discussions are unseemly,” he said in a prim voice. “We three are hardly qualified to dispense advice in matters marital, Sir Hoggle!”

The dwarf snorted at that. “Yeah,  _ you _ ain’t, but Ludo’s married with a kid. An’ I may not know much about the  _ marryin’ _ part, mind you, never wanted a woman cluttering up the place, but…”

Sir Didymus cut him off sharply. “I  _ meant _ as  _ men _ , Sir Hoggle. If our queen should find herself in need of an adviser on such matters, it would be best to consult a woman of similar standing. Not three men of our ilk. Surely she has no wish to hear your opinions on the ladies of the Four Flowers Tavern?” His mustaches quivered threateningly, and Ambrosius whined and hid behind Ludo. 

Sarah knew enough history to know that tavern wenches often had another source of income, particularly a tavern with such a feminine name, and given Hoggle’s glare to the fox-knight she knew she’d guessed right.  _ I guess we  _ _**all** _ _ grew up, sure enough, not just me, _ she thought. “All right, enough,” she chortled. “To each their own. It’s none of my business, it’s none of  _ any _ of our business what the others are doing on their own time. And yeah, if I need marriage advice I’ll look elsewhere, but for everything else I need you three.”

That broke up the hint of an argument, as they all looked at her, Ludo’s great dark eyes peering down from over her shoulder. Sarah sighed, and smiled. “I do need you three, you know. All the time, for all kinds of reasons. I’d probably be a lot better off if I’d never shut you out, way back when.”

“You did as you must,” Sir Didymus said gently. “No runner before you ever returned to the Labyrinth, and few ever remembered their time here. Mortals are not meant to sport amongst the fae realms. We were fortunate to have you join us on our adventures as often as you did.”

“And I’m never leaving again, not while I’m alive to fight my way back,” Sarah responded immediately. “Umardelin wouldn’t let me go, and I wouldn’t let anything come between me and my friends, ever again.”

“Good,” Ludo rumbled.

Sarah chuckled and reached up to scratch under Ludo’s chin. “Speaking of advice, though,” she said thoughtfully. “Hoggle, you know an  _ awful _ lot about the Labyrinth, and Umardelin, and the fae. And I trust you to be honest, even if it’s something I don’t want to hear. I know you don’t want to be an official court adviser, but I need your advice, especially. Do you think I can talk you into being my unofficial adviser?”

He eyed her warily. “I ain’t gonna wear a bird on my head, no matter what. An’ no titles or any of that fancy crap. I just work here.”

She grinned, thinking of the Wiseman’s snarky feathered companion. “No, no, there’s only one Gandelering, thank goodness. I don’t think we could handle another. And it would be just between us, no forced rank, nothing to put you in the cross-hairs; I didn’t get you out of Jareth’s grasp to just do it all over again. I just need someone I trust completely to let me see the other side of some situations,” she reassured him, hiding her smile. “As to the ‘fancy crap’, I was thinking more like a necklace to show your rank or something. Something small, not too much that it would cause too much gossip, but with a few shiny baubles. But if you’d rather I not…”

“I ain’t never turned down jewels,” Hoggle said stubbornly. “It’d better be a nice one. Think of everything I already told ya for free!”

Again, Sarah burst into amused laughter. It would be far too easy to see Hoggle, with a trove of treasure equal to Smaug’s, happily doing a backstroke through a pool full of gems. It still worked just about every time. It was a very good thing that she’d been thinking about this for some weeks.

They passed the rest of the morning in lighter topics, and Sarah felt much better about her future as queen.

 

…

 

Sarah had one last task before she took Toby and Jareth back Above, to go to dinner with her parents. All the coronation guests were gone, save the delegation from Etaron, and they were packing up as well. Sarah looked wistfully at the train of horses and riders getting themselves organized in the castle courtyard, knowing she would miss Jareth’s parents. She hadn’t expected to make such fast friends of both of them, nor that her future in-laws would take her so quickly.

It was Thiel who noticed her watching, and put an arm around her, hugging her to his side. “So long as you keep the smell down to a less noisome level, Sarah, we will be back.”

She laughed a little, and impulsively hugged him. “So long as  _ you _ keep the racism down to a less obnoxious level, you’ll be welcome.”

He scowled fiercely at her, arched brows and un-fae-like beard bristling, then both of them broke into laughter. “Take care, you minx, and don’t let my son drive you mad,” he said finally.

“I miss you already,” Sarah admitted.

Thiel nodded wisely. “I often have that effect on women.” She elbowed him for that, and Toby hovering nearby shot them a puzzled look.

Jareth and his mother had been off somewhere saying their own goodbyes, and now they walked up with her hand in the crook of his arm. Della kissed her son’s cheek, and went to Sarah, embracing her too. “Be well, my daughter,” she said, hugging her tight, and then drew back to kiss her on both cheeks.

“I miss you too,” Sarah told her, grinning.

“And we will miss you, darling,” she replied. It was an echo of Jareth’s own wicked humor that sparked in her eyes when Della added, “Fear not, we _will_ be back. I still owe your dryad a favor, little though she wants to admit it. And I did not buy quite everything I wanted in New York.”

Thiel rolled his eyes. “Yea gods, woman, leave  _ something _ in the stores!”

She only smirked over her shoulder at him. “You haven’t seen everything I picked out at Victoria’s Secret, love, so I wouldn’t complain.” Toby, who had been watching this exchange, suddenly found an extremely interesting bit of stone to stare at as he blushed all the way to his ears.

Sarah just shook her head. “You two, I swear. I’m gonna miss you both, so much. We joke Aboveground about people hating their in-laws, but I think I got damn lucky with you two.”

“Oh, you did,” Della said breezily. “And if you pine for us so, love, come to us in Etaron. Jareth has not been home since the curse was laid on him, since one of its conditions was that he could not leave set foot in any other fae kingdom. And I would love to show you my lands. We have no Labyrinth, of course, but Etaron is grand and lovely for herself.”

“ _Your_ lands?” Thiel said, eyeing her.

“Yes, mine,” Della replied, smirking. “Am I not Etaron’s queen? They are your lands by blood, darling, and mine by marriage, as I’m sure you remember.”

“And you are my wife by that same marriage, which is the gods’ own joke on me,” Thiel shot back, but he was smiling.

Sarah rolled her eyes at the pair of them, looking at Jareth. Oh yes, it was  _ very _ obvious where his arrogance and his whimsy came from. He could only smile at her, mostly immune to the endless teasing between his parents.

And then Della added, glancing aside, “That invitation goes for you as well, Toby. I would not think to invite your sister without you.”

“Subtle, Mother,” Jareth muttered.

Sarah, meanwhile, shook her head. “No, that’s too much,” she protested. She couldn’t imagine bringing Toby with her on a state visit to Etaron, and watching him trip over his feet every time Della smiled. He’d been  _ remarkably _ mature in the past couple of days, but she didn’t want to push it.

Toby, of course, disagreed. “Hey, I let my sister get stolen away by fairies once, and now I have to deal with  _ him _ forever,” he argued, nodding at Jareth. “I’m not chancing anything else shady happening.”

“Uh- _huh_ ,” Sarah said doubtfully, looking at him with one eyebrow quirked up. This had more to do with Della than her, she was sure.

“Oh, bring the boy,” Thiel said, clapping Toby on the shoulder fondly and nearly knocking him over. “He’ll come to no harm in Etaron, and you won’t have to wonder if he’s turning into a goblin. There’s nothing better for a boy his age than riding and hunting in forests like ours. Besides, he has the look of a natural swordsman.”

Jareth scowled. “We’re discussing my first visit home in a century and a half, and you’re trying to adopt my brother-in-law right in front of me. Thanks, Dad.” The last was delivered with heavy sarcasm, and a good approximation of Toby’s own vernacular.

Sarah shot him a look, while Toby looked from one man to the other, startled. It was Della who said, “Jareth, you know full well Etaron is bound to one bloodline. No adopted child could ever take the throne – which since you have chosen Umardelin, means your father and I need to set about producing another heir, or see the throne go to a more distant line.”

Thiel looked at his son intently. “In any case, I have only one firstborn son, the best and strongest and most stubborn of both our natures, and that is  _ you _ , Jareth. You are my blood, my son, and more loved than you know. Do not forget it, for I surely have not.”

Jareth bowed his head to that, and stepped forward as Thiel drew him into a hug. “Thank you, Father,” he murmured.

Della smiled at them, then cleared her throat. “Gentlemen, I have no wish to leave, but Thiel, you do remember the last time we left your cousin in charge too long?”

“Oh gods, let’s _not_ repaint the bloody castle again,” Thiel said, stepping back with one more firm clasp of Jareth’s shoulder. “His wretched wife will choose _pink_ this time.”

Jareth barked laughter. “Even I remember hearing about that. Wasn’t it yellow, last time?”

“With blue shutters,” Thiel replied, and grimaced. “Come then. Until we see you next, Jareth, Sarah.”

Last goodbyes, and a few more hugs, and even Toby shook hands with them both, then Etaron was riding out through a path the Labyrinth opened for them. Jareth watched them go, and sighed.

Surprisingly, it was Toby who spoke before Sarah could. “So you’re like hundreds of years old, and it still hits you in the gut when your dad approves of you,” he said. “Nice to know that feeling never goes away.”

“I have given him little enough occasion to approve of me,” Jareth admitted.

“Yeah, well, you got my sister to wear a crown and agree to marry you. Probably the best thing you ever did.” Toby grinned at him.

“Oh, shut up, Toby,” Sarah laughed, linking her arm through Jareth’s and leaning against him affectionately. “Come on, you guys, we have to get Above. I’ve got errands to run and I promised Karen I’d pick up dessert, since she’s making dinner. What time is it up there now?” She closed her eyes, focusing on her sense of Umardelin to try and puzzle out when it was in New York.

Time ran differently, Underground, but Sarah had found that she could sense roughly what the time would be if she focused on it. Usually time ran faster in Umardelin, letting her squeeze in extra hours of sleep, but Jareth had warned her it was not always so, and she would need to be vigilant. With her coronation, she found her sense of that link between realms was clearer, and it felt like they were almost synced, mid-morning here and close to noon in New York.

“Midday,” Jareth confirmed, having checked the same sense of the realm she had, though his experience was greater. “And what errands are these, my love? I thought we would wait until this dinner with your parents.”

“I need to pick up the cake, I have to grab some groceries, I’ve got to pay some bills online and check my phone while I’m at it, I _really_ need to tell my landlord about that faucet, I have dry cleaning to pick up, I’ve got to set up a space for Neesk to stay while he’s there … and I’m probably forgetting something,” Sarah said, ticking off each point on her fingertips. “Basically I’m at two full time jobs, here, and even with bonus hours I’m going a little crazy.”

Toby leaned toward her, letting his elbow bonk hers gently. “You’re more than a  _ little _ crazy, Sare.”

“Takes one to know one, Sir Tobias the Utterly Lame,” Sarah cracked back, ruffling his hair.

He stuck his tongue out, she crossed her eyes, and Jareth sighed at them both. “Very well, my queen. I shall accompany you. I might as well familiarize myself with your city, before I meet your parents.”

“Not in that outfit,” Toby immediately said. “Or with that hair. You’ll have to normal it down again. I mean, it’s the city, there are weirdos everywhere, but we won’t get anything _done_ if people keep stopping to ask who you’re cosplaying.”

Jareth tilted his head, birdlike, and asked, “What is this  _ cosplay _ ?” 

“I’ll tell you on the way up,” Sarah groaned, already envisioning Jareth ‘borrowing’ the look of any fictional character that interested him. Trust Toby to get him started on _that._

 

 


	37. A Faerly Mundane Afternoon

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Could be subtitled, The Calm Before the Karen. Sarah runs some errands, and runs into a friend, while getting ready to go visit her parents for the dreaded Meet-My-Boyfriend dinner.

The first thing Sarah did, upon stepping into her apartment, was check her phone. She found out her mother was postponing her visit – for which she sighed in relief – and that Mr. Wilson was back in rehab, and Mrs. Wilson was talking about taking him back – which prompted a sigh of frustration. Amy and the others had it under control, but it was a frustrating setback, though one she couldn’t do anything for the moment. Nothing terribly urgent, no calls she needed to return, so with Jareth and Toby trailing behind her and providing a soundtrack of banter, Sarah set out to get her errands accomplished. She couldn’t help shaking her head a little at the sight of Jareth looking _human_ , and wearing a suit; she had seen it before, but it was still a novel experience. Despite how well he wore it, he just didn’t look right to her without his fae finery and with his hair tamed down. The hair was harder to ignore than even the conservative apparel; attractive, mind you, but too contained for her actual taste, at least regarding Jareth. 

Sarah stopped by a pet store first, to pick out a small cushioned bed for Neesk that would fit in her drawer, ignoring Toby pointing out the bird toys to Jareth. She also picked up some soft blankets, and though it bothered her a little to buy pet supplies for someone she considered a person, she’d been to a couple baby showers and knew baby stuff would be too cutesy and too expensive. Sarah consoled herself with the thought of picking up some miniature furniture for him; a jewelry box would serve as a dresser, and there were chairs and tables sized for some larger dolls that ought to suit.

The next stop was the dry cleaners, and Jareth deigned to carry her clothes even as Toby carried the bag from the pet shop. Sarah had planned this so she’d get to the corner store last, to pick up the few groceries she needed. The cake was ordered from an actual grocer, which she would pick up on the way out of town, but most of her own food came from the tiny corner deli. Cooking for one meant she tended toward microwave meals, minute rice, and canned goods. She also picked up breakfast sandwiches and salads for lunch at the same place, most days.

Sarah stepped through the door, Toby following, and Jareth paused for a second; the space _was_ rather crowded, even with just the three of them, another customer off by the deli case, and the couple who owned it behind the counter. Sarah exchanged waves with the owners as she picked up her coffee and a four-pack of Canadian soda she’d learned to enjoy, then headed for the register. “And a pack of Newport Menthols, please,” Sarah added, fishing out her driver’s license.

“You’re smoking?” Toby said, as disapprovingly as only a little brother could.

“I’m bringing my boyfriend home to meet my parents. That deserves some stress relief,” Sarah shot back.

He frowned. “You said you were only a social smoker, you just bum from other people if they offer and never buy your own. Liar, liar, Sare.”

Jareth chose to add, though his voice was light and not judgmental, “A most unladylike habit, Sarah.”

Before she could round on them both, the other customer in the store spoke up. “Good thing I’m no lady,” Alix said sardonically. “You can have one of my cloves if you want, Sarah. Take two or three. If you buy the whole pack, you’ll decide to smoke them before they go stale. And that’s how you wind up smoking a pack a day like me.”

Sarah chuckled, and waited as the dryad bought her own cigarettes. Jareth eyed her warily. “However do you turn up so fortuitously?” he asked, as all four of them left the shop together.

Alix opened the pack and shook out a clove, offering one to Sarah as well. “I admit, I keep an eye on Sarah’s comings and goings. I like to know when she’s around, since she does so enjoy bringing troublesome company to the city. This time, however, was pure coincidence. That shop has the best price on cloves.” She glanced at Toby curiously, raising an eyebrow, as she lit both cigarettes.

Sarah made the introduction, blowing smoke Jareth’s way in retaliation for the disdainful look he was giving her. “Alix, this is my brother, Toby. He knows. He came down for the coronation, actually. Toby, this is my friend Alix. She’s fae, but she lives up here. She’s teaching me magic.” It felt weird to say that out loud on the street in New York, but no one was paying them any attention. Sarah had overheard a couple of businesswomen on the subway speaking with absolute solemnity of their previous lives in Atlantis, though. The bar for ‘weird’ was quite high in the city.

Alix shifted the cigarette to her left hand and held out her right. Toby shook with her, bemused. “So, fae in New York. Cool. Nice to meet you.”

“My pleasure. It was not exactly my choice, but this city grows on you,” Alix replied. She shot Sarah a look – he was taking the knowledge of fae existence remarkably well. “And you mentioned the coronation – I’m glad that went off without a hitch. Congratulations, Your Majesty.”

She should have known Alix would tweak her nose on that one. From anyone else, she could almost abide it, but not from the dryad.  _Especially_ not from her. “God, Alix, don’t start that shit,” Sarah said immediately. “My friends don’t call me by my title, nor are they expected to.”

Jareth chuckled. “You are a queen, and Alix is not. At least, not yet. A certain degree of bowing and scraping is necessary to maintain the status quo. At least we know  _you_ are not entirely sincere about it, dryad.”

“And I know you both appreciate that I am not overwhelmed by such lofty royal company,” Alix replied easily. “Would you like to come to lunch at the club, all of you, by way of celebration? We have something catered for the staff almost every day. I honestly don’t remember what today’s meal is, but it should serve.”

“We do need to eat something,” Sarah admitted, even as she appreciated the adroit politicking of the offer – acknowledge her as Queen, then invite her to lunch like a casual friend. “I don’t want all of us to turn up at my parents’ like a pack of starving dogs. Karen will fuss over us even more. I’m happy with lunch at your place if these guys are. Just let me drop my stuff at my apartment.”

Sarah looked to them both questioningly. Jareth didn’t object, and Toby had never turned down free food – this was no different. So Alix nodded. “I will meet you there, then,” the dryad said, turning to go.

“It’s only a block, walk with us,” Sarah said.

Alix turned and raised a fine brow at her, while Jareth chuckled, “Sarai, you should reconsider offering your address so freely.”

The dryad added to that, “I would prefer to be able to say, even under duress, that I don’t know where you live, Sarah.”

That thought hadn’t occurred to her, having forgotten the political dance of her own world, and the implication of danger made Sarah grit her teeth. “Let someone try to get to me through you. If they do, someone’s gonna get a big damn surprise.”

Alix started to shake her head, but it was Jareth who spoke next. “If you come to harm by association with Umardelin’s Queen, then Umardelin shall answer for it.”

At that, Alix went very still. Sarah was aware of foot-traffic flowing around them, and decided that someone must’ve cast a glamour of some kind to keep people from paying attention. They’d been standing still for too long, by the city’s standards. After a pause, Alix said softly, “Be careful what you promise, King of Umardelin.”

“You did not ask for our intrusion into your life,” he replied, his voice low and musical. Toby looked from one fae to the other, darting questioning glances at Sarah as well, but she kept quiet and listened. “You could have passed by, and not alerted Sarah to my neglect in leaving the Key visible, but you intervened for our safety as well as your own. You gave me your oath to protect that which I love most, all unasked. You offered instruction in magic without demanding recompense, and you have done so at some inconvenience. And when my mother made her offer of restitution for the offense she gave you, instead of making her pay for her folly, you answered her with a truth it cannot have been easy to relive.”

“You speak to a dryad sundered from her tree,” Alix said, a trifle sharply. “No part of my life is _easy_ , o son of Etaron, least of all the past. I acted as I did because _I_ at least will do what is right, not only what benefits me. And I will not use what power falls into my hands for anything so petty as revenge.”

Once again, Sarah marveled that Alix only seemed to take offense when the high fae treated her with respect and consideration. When Jareth was being a dick about who exactly had a crown, she tossed it off with a jest. Now that he was being conciliatory, she bristled.

“Do you think we do not know that, daughter of the Green?” Jareth chided. He shifted his stance slightly, moving Sarah’s garment bag to the other shoulder, and she blinked a little at the contrast. A high fae king, being very kingly indeed … and also a handsome Brit in a sharp suit whom she’d conned into carrying her stuff.

Jareth wasn’t done, and even as Alix’s chin came up stubbornly he leaned into her space. “You have in one month acted with more honor and justice than most of our kind ever does in a lifetime.  _I_ am not the kind of man, or fae, or king to take that lightly. So Umardelin’s protection you shall have.”

“I am not your _vassal_ ,” Alix growled, shoulders stiff. “I owe you no fealty, nor would I give you such.”

He laughed then, and people turned to look, whatever glamour hid them dissipating. “No, Alix, nor would I ask that of you. You are a friend to Sarah, she names you so and you admit it. We look after our friends. I have always done so, sometimes to my detriment.”

The dryad just scoffed at him, but she seemed mollified. Sarah was about to make a comment, anything to get them moving before they became today’s latest offering of New York street theater, when Toby finally spoke up cautiously. “So … lunch is out?”

Alix laughed at that, the mood lightening. “No, no, come to lunch. I suppose I must learn to negotiate with kings someday. Though I may decide to serve you mice, Jareth, to keep from being too friendly.”

Jareth made a face. “No mice for me. I have the shape and the flight of an owl, but not its dietary habits.”

“Then take your lady’s shopping in, o mighty and powerful king, and I shall see the lot of you at Imperiale,” Alix replied.

In the elevator up to her apartment, as Sarah was sighing in relief after that little confrontation, Toby spoke again. “You fae people are kinda weird,” he said. “I mean, did that whole argument just amount to ‘we like you, we’ll watch out for you, deal with it’? You make high school look drama-free, and let me tell you, that’s saying something.”

“Alix doesn’t particularly appreciate help of any kind from the high fae,” Sarah said, before Jareth could respond, sighing and leaning back against the wall of the car. “She’s up here because one tried to kill her. It’s a topic she takes pretty damn seriously.”

“Yeah, but she likes _you_ , Sare,” Toby countered. “I thought for half a second with the ‘take my cigarettes’ thing she was hitting on you. And us humans, if the legends are even half right, we’re the reason the fae have to stay Underground now.”

“Your god, and your iron,” Jareth said, with unaccustomed solemnity. “Still. We have had thousands of years to adjust to the reality that the world Above belongs to you. Her grief is fresher than that. And again, your sister is just the sort of person who would have fought on our side, or gone Underground with us when it came clear the battle was lost.”

The door dinged, and Sarah stepped out on her floor, rolling her eyes at Jareth. “You overestimate your appeal, sir.”

“Nay, milady,” he shot back. “You do so love to champion the underdog, and once mankind learned to smelt iron, we fae were doomed.”

Any more witty banter was offset by Neesk appearing as Sarah unlocked her door, hopping to her shoulder happily. “I jus’ woke up,” he proclaimed, puffing his tiny chest out. “Big goblins says I can’t drinks wif ‘em cuz I’s too little. I showed ‘em! Royal page can outdrinks  _anybody!_ ”

“Oh my God, I don’t even want to imagine the hangover,” Sarah groaned, realizing why he hadn’t been about during the picnic or the goodbyes. They all headed inside, Sarah pointing Jareth at the closet to hang up the dry cleaning, and putting away the coffee and sodas. She took the packages from Toby next, and headed into her bedroom.

Neesk crowed laughter at that. “No hangover, is hangunder, sleeps under bed cuz too drunk to gets in it. Minty drink made hurty-head go ‘way, then I just sleeps.”

“How much did you drink?” Jareth asked, sounding concerned. He’d figured out her closet organization at a glance and put things away in their proper places, now hanging up the garment bag itself.

“I dranks a whoooooole barrel of wine, jus’ me!” Neesk told them proudly.

“Holy crap,” Toby muttered, leaning in the doorway.

Sarah went white. She’d seen alcohol poisoning before, in college where some people didn’t know when to stop partying. “How did he  _survive_ that?” she demanded of Jareth.

“They are resilient. And it was likely a goblin-sized barrel,” the king put in.

“I’s could still swims in it,” Neesk replied. And then, a little crestfallen, “Maybe I hads some help…”

“I’m sure you can outdrink any goblin you need to,” Sarah reassured him. “Now, while we have a minute, I picked up a few things for you.”

“For _me_?” Neesk squeaked, his tail flicking back and forth in excitement.

“I said you could live here, I might as well make you comfortable,” Sarah replied.

She emptied out a dresser door for him, while Neesk bounced around delightedly, and put the soft pet bed in there. Neesk fell into it, singing gaily as a bird, and wrapped himself up in the blankets Sarah had also bought. “I’ve got to order furniture,” she said apologetically.

“Is ‘k, goblins has carpenters, we makes furnitures,” he replied. “Don’ts needs much. This’s good, sleep safe, smell nice too.”

Jareth and Toby had been talking quietly while Sarah set up Neesk’s bed, and now the king turned his attention to her again. “Neesk, be aware, you are not to steal, chew, wear, or otherwise bother Sarah’s clothes,” he said sternly.

Neesk looked crestfallen, but he nodded. Jareth continued to Sarah, “I’m sure you don’t want to find him camping in your brassiere.”

“Cute mental image, but no, it’ll stretch the cups,” Sarah said, making sure she didn’t sound angry. “Neesk, we’re going to Imperiale to have lunch with Alix. Do you want to come?”

“Sure!” he chirped, and leapt to her shoulder. Sarah gave a small laugh, nudging him gently with her cheek. That was her Royal page, always up for an adventure. 

They were heading out again, Jareth and Toby both following her lead, and Sarah locked up behind herself. Jareth touched the door and hissed. “Jareth? What is it?” she asked, worried.

He frowned, and shook his hand as if he’d touched something hot. “I thought to put a spell of protection on your door, but its core is made of steel. Iron and its alloys do not take magic well.”

“Yeah, security was one of the reasons I picked this building,” Sarah replied, taking his hand and curling her fingers around it.  “No worries about additional Goblin King wards. We don’t have a lot of problems with break-ins, here.”

“Well, having a resident goblin will probably help too,” Toby pointed out. “ _I_ wouldn’t mess with Neesk.”

“You’s brother, you’s ‘k,” Neesk told him. “Going out, gots t’ hidey-hide.” With that, he flattened himself against Sarah’s neck, wrapping his tail around the necklace that bore the Key to Umardelin on one side, and gripping it in his front paws on the other. She saw the look of consternation on Toby’s face, and glanced down. Instead of the live, warm, furry goblin she felt against her throat, she now appeared to be wearing a sculpted necklace with jeweled eyes. He looked exactly like one of the realistic dragon ones she’d been seeing online of late. It was an excellent disguise. 

“Very nice, Neesk, good work,” Sarah muttered, ruffling the end of his tail with affection as she marveled at his choice. Neesk was, as ever, full of surprises. “All right, gentlemen, let’s go before Alix thinks we stood her up.”

“Free food, here we come,” Toby laughed.

“And more fae, for you to test your hypothesis,” Jareth added. Sarah arched a brow, wondering what _that_ was about, but heard her landlord in the hallway and remembered she had to ask him about that damn faucet.

 

 


	38. Tacos and Hard Truths

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lunch Aboveground, lottttttttssss of banter, and a couple Important Facts slipped in among the discussion.

Ojore was at the door as usual, and he inclined his head to Sarah and her party. “Your majesties,” he said quietly. “Be welcome. Alix expects you in her office; the buffet is laid out in the hall outside it.”

Sarah thanked him, Jareth nodded regally, and Toby muttered, “I don’t know if I can get used to people calling my nerdy big sister ‘your majesty’. What a trip.”

Neesk uncoiled himself from her neck and stretched, sniffing. “Lunch?”

That got a chuckle from Sarah, before she remembered the gustatory habits of goblins in general. Neesk had been well-behaved on the picnic lunch with Thiel and Della, but the savory smells drifting to Sarah’s nose were much more tempting. “Yes, just _please_ don’t dive face-first into the food, okay? I’ll make you a plate if you want.”

The little goblin chattered happily, but clung to Sarah’s shoulder as they mounted the stairs. She could hear lively conversation and laughter above, something that echoed her own workplace luncheons. It was the sound of people who came together for a purpose, who fit well together as a team, and who shared their accomplishments and their challenges readily. Having met several of them the night before her coronation, and having felt Alix’s pride in them when she mingled her magic with the dryad’s, she knew they were a good crew, and that hastened her steps to join them.

What Sarah hadn’t expected was the way the conversation halted when she and Jareth stepped into view. And her heart lurched up into her throat again when all of them, even Colleen in her wheelchair, bowed solemnly. For an instant, Sarah felt despair.

Only last night she had been radiant in her nascent royalty, standing on a raised dais and looking down upon all those who were not officials in her kingdom. The power, and the responsibilities that came with it, had felt so  _right_ that her life here had briefly seemed a shadow. But now, oh, now she was in her city, the one where she lived and worked as just another cog in the giant, hungry, never-ending machine that was New York, and people she thought of as friends were  _bowing_ to her. It was well enough for Jareth’s people to fawn over her, but her own? That made her sick.

Jareth bowed back, and Sarah did the same, knowing not to argue after their first meeting with Alix that day. It didn’t wipe the stricken look off her face, though. She had to wait for Alix to smile, and say in quite informal tones, “That is all the recognition you get Above, I’m afraid.”

“And all we’d ever ask,” Sarah shot back, relieved.

“Speak for yourself,” Jareth muttered, and she glared at him, and there was enough comedic commonality in their exchange of stares to win laughter from the urban fae.

Alix, meanwhile, took a slight step forward. “My people, I give you King Jareth and Queen Sarai of Umardelin, with the royal page Neesk and the queen’s brother, Toby Williams. Pray leave some food for them, if you will?”

It was up to Colleen to joke, catching Sarah’s eye with a grin, “Don’t make any bets on the mahi mahi, I warn you.  _That_ is all mine. I’m not even sharing with you, Alix.”

Today’s catered lunch looked like someone had raided a taco truck – a really  _good_ taco truck, by the scent – and Sarah eyed the grilled mahi appreciatively. Before she could challenge the merrow’s claim, Alix said dryly, “No need to be so defensive. I don’t eat fish – as you very well know.”

The double meaning – from a lesbian to a mermaid – hit Sarah just as the rest burst into laughter, and even Colleen shook her head and chuckled at her own expense. “I set you up for that, more fool me.”

“Never thought you’d be playing my straight man, but it’s a strange world we live in,” Alix shot back. “Sarah, try the carnitas. Best in the city. I have a deal with this vendor – I keep him in fresh limes and cilantro, even in January, and he brings us lunch every so often.”

Sarah tucked in gladly, the tantalizing aromas making her mouth water. She might’ve thought Jareth would need help navigating a build-your-own-taco bar, but he handled it with aplomb, taking his cues from the rest. There were no stiff manners on display; apparently if Alix could make risque jokes in front of the royals, everyone else could relax. And again, Sarah was certain the savvy dryad had arranged it just so.

They all rubbed elbows in a friendly mob, until Sarah’s party adjourned to Alix’s office. Sarah carried a plate of carnitas for herself, and a second plate with a little of everything for Neesk, who bounced atop a cabinet and chittered with glee when Sarah passed him the plate. Toby, too, had sampled all the meats, Colleen even making a show of graciously allowing him some of the fish. Jareth stuck to carnitas, like Sarah and Alix.

Though Toby noticed, and as they were pulling up chairs around Alix’s desk, he said, “Can I ask you a weird question?”

“You can ask anything you like,” Alix replied easily.

“You’re a dryad, right? Why aren’t you a vegetarian?” It was so clearly honest curiosity that no one could possibly take offense.

Sarah wanted to elbow him, still, but Alix just grinned. “And consume only the corpses of my kin? Everything feeds the earth eventually, Toby. Plant, animal, fungi, I can draw my strength from it all. And if you’re ever in a garden center, note that you will find both blood and bone meal in the aisle with the fertilizers.”

“Gross, but cool,” Toby said. “I guess it’s weirder that your mermaid is eating fish, then.”

“Most fish eat other fish, sometimes even the young of their own kind. The ocean food chain is ruthless. And Colleen is a merrow, the specifically Irish Celtic flavor of mermaid,” Alix told him. “She takes some offense to being called mermaid. Were I as technical, I’d insist on being called hamadryad, for I am bound to my tree as some other dryads are not.”

“The niceties of Greco-Roman mythology,” Jareth mused. “We are fortunate that you are not a maenad.”

Alix scoffed. “A maenad is a state of being, not a race. There were even mortal maenads, who learned most painfully not to mock the gods. The first maenads  _were_ nymphs, though, yes.” She smirked. “In other words, a maenad is just a dryad who happens to be an angry drunk.”

Toby cocked his head, interested. “I read some of those mythology books Sarah brought home from the library, but I’m starting to think I should’ve read more. I still have a few of them at home. After dinner, Sarah, we can look up half your new friends.” He just shook his head at what a mind trip  _that_ thought was.

“You better still have my Bullfinch’s,” she warned.

Jareth chose that moment to say to Toby, “Since you are so curious, was that introduction upstairs a sufficient answer to your other question?”

“What question?” Sarah asked, curious.

Toby rolled his eyes, and Jareth answered, “He had asked if all fae women were, and I quote, ‘ridiculously hot’. Right after meeting Alix, I should add.”

Toby and Sarah both kicked him in the shins, and Alix took her mirrored sunglasses off, revealing her caprine eyes. To Toby’s credit, he didn’t shy away. “Sorry, kid, I don’t swing your way,” she said lightly, taking the sting out of it.

“I didn’t mean it like that!” Toby protested. “I just wanted to know if that’s part of being fae, y’know? We saw a lot of high fae at the coronation, but they’re mostly only one kind of fae. You’ve got lots of different kinds, and they’re all gorgeous.”

“We are an attractive people,” Jareth said, smirking. “It is not only the women who are devastatingly beautiful, after all. Not that I expect you to properly appreciate that, Toby.”

The boy rolled his eyes as only a fifteen-year-old could, and Sarah just sighed. “It looks like a case of really hot, or really not. The ones who look close to human are attractive, but not everyone fits our human standards of beauty. According to King Know-It-All there, some of the fae races who don’t look at all human are as unaffected by us as we are by dragonflies.”

“Quite true,” Alix put in, squeezing a wedge of lime over her taco. “Most of my people are close to human. If you’d met the grindylow who lives in this city, Toby, I doubt you’d find her attractive. And you know the goblins and trolls are fae as well.”

“Good point,” he said, and applied himself to his food.

“Standards of beauty vary,” Jareth said, subtly watching and mimicking everyone else as he rolled up his own tortilla. “Take the dwarves, for instance. Sarah, your pet gardener is considered homely by his own kind, for he has insufficient blemishes. That race of dwarf cherishes the warts and bumps and boils the rest of us are horrified by.”

Sarah glared at him. “Don’t be a dick, Jareth.”

Toby swallowed a bite of taco to add, “In his usual pants, how can he be anything else?”

“I had no idea you were paying such close attention,” Jareth shot back, then looked at Sarah. “I cannot lie. I am not disparaging Hoggle simply for amusement. That is what his race celebrates, and they find him lacking. Not that he particularly cares, being both a confirmed bachelor and rather antisocial.” Sarah frowned; Hoggle may not have been particularly handsome in the traditional sense, but she still bridled at the notion of anyone calling any of her friends ugly.

“Still, there are some races who don’t find each other attractive,” Alix pointed out. “The whole class of nereids tend to have males who look more like the fish part of their nature. Not that I find any man attractive, but mermen are especially unsavory. Your average mermaid or merrow would rather seduce a human than one of her own kind.”

“Is that why we have legends about mermaids singing to sailors?” Toby asked.

“Well, that, and the desperation of men at sea,” Alix said. “They would see a beautiful woman in almost anything, even a seal. Six months surrounded by rough sailors tends to lower one’s standards significantly.”

“Yep, not joining the Navy,” Toby chuckled. “Unlike my sister’s boyfriend, who’d have the time of his life. You pretty much made it clear you swing _every_ way, Jareth. Your ex-boyfriend seems cool, though.”

“Thorvald was more friend with benefits, but he _is_ a superlative example of a man. And a very good friend, which is most important,” Jareth replied. 

Alix neatly polished off her first taco, and then looked speculative. “Since we are apparently exploring the topic today, Umardelin has a lot of sports, doesn’t it? How do they get along in the game of love?”

Toby cocked his head. “Sports?”

Jareth answered, “One-offs, creatures born of magic. Like my chef, and Sarah’s fox knight. They have no true complement in the world. For Sir Didymus, he has chosen chivalric chastity, while the stag managed to woo a human lover.”

Toby frowned a little, and voiced the thought that had lurked in Sarah’s head since she’d first heard what Didymus was. “Can’t you make another like them?”

Jareth scoffed. “ _I_ do not have the power to create an intelligent being from pure magic. Umardelin can do that, but only in response to a runner. Or a child – Sir Didymus was spawned by a young girl so frightened of the goblins that Umardelin created a more cuddly companion for her.”

Sarah was taken aback by that, her heart contracting painfully. “No wonder he’s so … him. Endlessly brave and loyal. God, he must’ve been heartbroken when that girl left.”

“Why do you think I knighted him and gave him a sacred duty?” Jareth replied. 

“Goddammit, _you_ stuck him out in the bog after that? By himself with only Ambrosius? That was you? You’re such an ass!” Sarah replied, her glare full of her utter disbelief. “I know he can’t smell it, but still, Jareth.”

He’d been forced to eat daintily, not having any prior experience with tortillas, and Jareth took the opportunity to set his taco down and give her a remonstrating look. “I tried keeping him in the castle, but he picked too many fights with my goblin guards. Any post had to be a lonely one, and fortunately he has the strength of spirit to take such an assignment gladly.”

Though the picture it gave was terribly amusing, it didn’t quell Sarah’s indignation. “Yeah, well, he’s the Queensguard now, you won’t be exiling him back to the bog no matter what,” Sarah shot back.

“Nor will there be a need to. He will do as you ask – it is his nature, brought into existence by a maiden’s need. Sarah, speak not of this to him. Sports do not know from whence they came. They arrive in the world full-grown, without memory but with purpose. Making them reflect on it, forcing them to realize they are born of magic and have no kin or kind, only causes them dismay. And while Didymus may not be _quite_ as destructive in his realization as Beldych was, I do not wish to hurt him.”

Just the thought of what that might have done to their kind chef broke Sarah’s heart. No one deserved that; no one. She shook her head resolutely, feeling pained at the possibility. “No, I’d never. Truth is usually best, but not when it can only harm.”

Jareth nodded. “The best that could be done, as far as creating a companion for Didymus, would be to enchant a vixen with human intelligence. I have no experience with such transformative magic, but my grandmother could do it. Even so, it would not work – he has shown himself chivalrously devoted to human women. Likely he would not recognize such a talking beast as his own kind.”

Toby shrugged. “The guy seems pretty happy. I mean, he’s got his friends, he loves his job, and he gets a kick out of commanding the guard. Not a bad life.” He hastened to add, “Not for me – I’m gonna need a girlfriend in the picture somewhere.”

“Not the one you’re eyeing,” Sarah said immediately, and Toby kicked her while Jareth snickered.

“It’s not freakin’ _like that_ , you sicko,” Toby growled. “Della’s way outta my league and I know it. I mean a normal human girlfriend – and that is the weirdest sentence that’s ever come out of my mouth. Thanks, Sarah, for making ‘human’ something I have to specify.”

“Oh, but what mere mortal teenager could ever hope to compare to one of the loveliest fae queens in history?” Jareth chortled.

“ _You_ don’t get to twit him about it, you were way too pissed when I told you,” Sarah said drolly, eyeing him.

Jareth’s reply was deadpan. “Sarah, if I have to watch him fawn over my mother – and watch her  _think it’s_ _**cute** _ – then I will harass him until the end of time for it.”

She narrowed her eyes at him, then turned to Toby. “I don’t approve. But just for that, you can harass  _him_ til the end of time for falling absolutely starry-eyed in love with the fifteen-year-old who kicked his ass.”

Toby just shrugged. “I was gonna do that anyway.”

“Difference is, now I’m not going to stop you,” Sarah said, and his eyes gleamed.

Jareth, of course, had to lean toward Toby and say, “Considering that you are fifteen yourself, and not entirely hideous, I’d be careful of implying that my preferences are exclusive to that age.” Toby made a face and snorted laughter at that.

Meanwhile, Alix had finished her taco, and asked, “Wait, how many times has Toby been Underground?”

“Twice, if you count when he was a baby,” Sarah replied.

Alix just looked at her. “And he is already referring to Queen Cadelinyth of Etaron, Owl’s-Daughter, Sorceress of Astolwyr’s child, as  _Della_ ?”

“Well yeah, she’s cool like that,” Toby said nonchalantly.

Alix’s dubious expression said it all, and Sarah groaned.  _Here we go again._ “They met at the coronation. She told him to call her Della – she tells everyone that, at least everyone I’ve seen.”

“I’m sure most of them haven’t the balls, or the lack of brains, to take her up on it,” Alix shot back.

“Speaking of balls, we’re quite lucky my father decided to be gracious, and Toby still _has_ his,” Jareth put in. 

“Dude, stop making it gross!” Toby snapped, elbowing the King of Umardelin in the side even as he blushed furiously. “You guys all act like I’m humping her leg. She’s _beautiful_. Who wouldn’t love her at first sight?”

It was Sarah’s turn to snort then, a memory coming immediately to mind. “Well, me, honestly. She showed up two days early and flew up to the window as an owl, making me think she was Jareth, then that I’d just let a wild owl in the castle. When she changed back, I got to meet my future mother-in-law with bed head and morning breath while wearing only one of his shirts. I wanted to  _die_ .”

There was a pause, and Toby suddenly brayed laughter. “That’s what you get for running around a castle like it’s your living room!”

Alix, meanwhile, said, “You never told me that. That does explain a lot about your friendship with her.”

Toby controlled himself long enough to say, “You met her, right? And you said you swing that way. Isn’t she the most drop-dead gorgeous woman you’ve ever seen?”

It was Jareth’s turn to restrain his laughter, while Sarah groaned and dropped her head in her hands. Alix just arched a fine green brow while obviously sorting through her responses. “I prefer my women dark,” she finally said, with a glance at Sarah.

“Please, I already have one fae in my sister’s life complicating things, I don’t need another,” Toby replied. “But seriously, Della’s awesome. How can anyone not love her?”

Alix said dryly, “When last we spoke, I came very close to striking her. Your lovely queen is  _not_ my cup of tea in the least.” Toby’s eyes widened in disbelief.

“And you have issues, and she has issues, and Toby, it’s not for debate,” Sarah overrode quickly before this became a much more intense debate. “Please stop mooning over a five-hundred-year-old married woman for a minute.”

“On a more serious note,” Jareth cut in. “You do realize, Alix, that she will not forget that she owes you recompense for having offended you. And she will not rest until she has somehow made atonement for it.”

“Fine. As long as she’s brooding over it in Etaron, an ocean away, I don’t particularly care,” Alix replied brusquely. “I don’t want her under my nose or flouncing around my city, potentially kicking off a three-sided war just by existing.”

“Dude, she doesn’t flounce,” Toby protested. “I spent like all of the last two days around her, Della’s cool. What is your damage?”

Sarah warned, “Toby, not your business.”

But Alix answered, speaking flatly. “I do not like high fae queens. Especially not powerful, beautiful ones who expect everyone to fall at their feet and worship them. Even less those convinced of their righteousness. Such a queen tried to kill me, and is the reason I’m up here. I’d show you the scars, but not while we’re eating.”

He paused, thoughtful. “Okay, but … you get along with Jareth, and he’s her son. He’s also powerful and arrogant and he doesn’t exactly look like a dwarf. So why don’t you hate him too?”

Alix smiled. “I may not lean his way, but I’m still dryad enough to know how to deal with a swinging prick.”

Sarah had to tighten her jaw not to laugh out loud, glad she had just swallowed her current bite of food. “As King of Umardelin, I’ll forgive that,” Jareth said.

At the lordly tone in his voice, Sarah let herself smirk and snark back, “As Queen of Umardelin, I’ll note that you don’t deny it.”

“Which is my point,” Alix said. “He _is_ a cocky bastard, and he knows it. _She_ pretends sweetness, and it chokes me.”

“She’s not – ” Toby began, and Alix cut him off.

“You’ve known her two days, during which time you’ve clearly been so infatuated you might as well be mildly high. You know nothing.”

“Okay, I know her a little more, and the sweetness isn’t entirely an act,” Sarah said.

“And I have known her all my life. My mother _is_ caring and compassionate,” Jareth put in.

“I don’t need to know her to know that she’s also cunning and manipulative. If you all think she acts entirely without self-interest, you’re lying to yourselves,” Alix retorted. “The queen gets what the queen wants, I guarantee it. Whether it’s by batting her eyelashes or casting a spell or calling out the army matters not to her, so long as she gets her way.”

Sarah could only look at Jareth, who was exactly the same. He had the grace to shrug. “Competence does not make her evil. And  _you_ get what you want, do you not, Alix? By thinking three steps ahead of everyone else, and being in the right place at the right time, by always doing the right thing but making sure everyone knows you chose to do it.”

“You think I have what I want?” Alix asked.

“You’ll have a throne eventually, I don’t doubt that,” Jareth replied. “So long as it’s not _mine_ , I would help you. Because I can look past your self-interest and see that _your_ cunning would make you a good queen, and you take exquisite care of your people.”

“I did not ask for your aid, Umardelin,” Alix replied steadily. “Just as I did not ask for your protection. I will never again be beholden to any king or queen, save the High King himself – and to him I hope to pay my tithe, make my bows, and be ignored.”

“Yet you will have our aid and our protection all the same, while all know you protested. One wonders if you are not more subtle and more devious than my mother,” Jareth said, arching a brow at her.

She only rolled her eyes, and then Toby spoke up again. “So … I know I’m just the kid in the room, but isn’t saying you know Della better than all of us, even though you’ve only met her once, isn’t that pretty much the  _definition_ of prejudice?”

Alix stared at him for that, her expression blank, and he gave a shrug. “Would it be that bad to get to know her first? Spend a couple days around her before you judge?”

“If Cadelinyth of Etaron and I spend more than a few hours together, someone is going to wind up dead,” Alix said flatly. “Most likely me, and I have a vested interest in not letting that happen. So while I appreciate what you’re attempting, the answer is no.”

“She wouldn’t hurt you,” Sarah and Toby said, almost in harmony.

The dryad only chuckled. “I know myself. I do know that I am prejudiced, and that my temper is very short where such as she are concerned. I would eventually force her to retaliate, and given that she is high fae and queen of a powerful kingdom, and I am only a dryad who owns a nightclub Aboveground, there would be only one outcome. I am well aware, as you seem not to be, that the object of your adoration could slay me in one blow, of magic or of blade.”

“I would wager my crown that my mother would not harm you, even if provoked,” Jareth said. “But it matters not. There will be no occasion to test her restraint and your resolve, Alix. As for myself, enlightening as this luncheon has been, one more question yet remains. Sarah, where is your royal page?”

Sarah groaned; she should’ve noticed Neesk’s silence and absence sooner. As they were all finished eating, the four of them got up to search. 

Neesk wasn’t in the vent, or in Alix’s desk, or on any of the shelves. He didn’t respond to Sarah’s call, or to Jareth’s attempt to summon him by magic. So they took the search out to the club, where it ended quickly.

The taco meats had been served in big aluminum pans, and Neesk was curled up in the one that had held ground beef, snoring. His stomach bulged alarmingly, and Sarah winced to see him. “God, Jareth, he’s gonna kill himself like this someday,” she muttered.

“No goblin has ever died of overeating or indigestion,” Jareth proclaimed. “And I have known them to eat broken glass or metal shavings on a dare.”

“Yeah, but I don’t wanna be downwind of him until he’s done digesting that,” Toby put in. “Looks like he ate his weight in taco meat.”

“Not all meat,” Ojore said, arriving silently at their sides. “He also devoured an entire plate of beans and rice. A mighty appetite, for one so small.”

“Beans, too?” Toby laughed. “Yeah, now I don’t wanna be upwind of him either.”

“He can sleep it off here,” Alix said. “You know he’ll be safe with me.”

Sarah nodded, but leaned over to stroke the sleeping goblin’s back until he woke up and looked at her blearily. “We need to go,” she told him, remembering how upset he was when he thought she’d forgotten about him. “It’ll be boring for you at my parents’ place, and you’d have to hide the whole time. Do you want to stay here while you sleep, and then go back to the apartment? I’ll be back there tonight.”

Neesk blinked, and yawned hugely, exposing more sharp teeth than Sarah even realized he’d had. “Sure. See ya, yer queeniness.” And with a last nuzzle against her hand, he dropped back into what was surely the most epic food coma of the century.

“Make sure he’s comfortable,” Alix told him, Sarah thanking her, and walked their company to the door. 

Sarah sighed, looking up at the New York sky. “All right, so we need to go pick up my car, hit the grocer for the cake, and then drive out to Haverstraw. I just hope Karen hasn’t made  _too_ much of a production of this…” 

 


	39. Maybe Second Thoughts

“If you don’t settle the hell down, I swear to God, I’ll make you turn owl and shove you in the trunk,” Sarah growled heartlessly.

Jareth swallowed the urge to screech at her. He’d initially offered to fly to her parents’ place, just to avoid a scene like this, but the relative distances made that highly impractical. He still tended to forget the staggering size of this country, compared to the mortal realms he’d known in his youth. And he could not simply pop up Above wherever he pleased – the location had to be tied to the book, or to a runner, or to Sarah herself. He  _could_ have let her go to her parents’ house and summon him through the mirror there, but even he admitted that would be difficult to explain.

He knew about cars, of course. He’d been Above too often not to. It was just that he’d never needed to be  _in_ one. It was a plastic and steel cage surrounding him, piloted at ridiculous speeds by a woman whom he knew to have more courage than caution, and who had admitted she only drove the thing once a week, at best. So as she slipped back and forth between other drivers, charged through intersections, and took turns at appalling speeds, Jareth scrunched himself in the corner gripping the door and hissing with each new impending doom.

It did not help at all that Toby was in the backseat, paying more attention to his phone than to their imminent demise. Perhaps the boy was inured to this madness by long exposure.

Someone’s car was abruptly  _much too close_ , he could’ve reached out the window and smacked their side mirror, and Sarah cursed and tromped on the accelerator so that their vehicle leapt out of the way like a bee-stung horse. Jareth curled his lip and snarled, glaring back at the offending car, and one of its tires popped, sending it careering off to one side.

“Hey, no magic road rage,” Sarah scolded. 

“Dude, you really need to chill,” Toby chortled from the backseat, clearly amused by his suffering.

Frustrated beyond measure, furious at their dismissal, Jareth  _did_ screech then, letting the owl’s sound of displeasure rise from his human-seeming throat, and had the satisfaction of watching the boy drop his phone as he yelped in shock. Even Sarah startled, glancing askance at him, her green eyes wide. “You are both  _clearly_ insane,” Jareth snapped, gripping the door frame tighter.

At least, Sarah slowed the car a trifle, moving over to the rightward lanes. “Seriously, Jareth, it’s okay,” she said in soothing tones. “I know it looks like we’re going to crash, but that’s just the way people drive around here. We’ll be up on Palisades Parkway in a minute, it’s not as crowded. We just have to get over the bridge.”

He glowered, and then saw through the maze of glass and concrete the bridge she meant. Jareth swallowed; it was enormous, and looked to be suspended by steel cables from enormous steel towers. Steel and steel and steel! No wonder his kind remained Underground. He couldn’t imagine how the dryad stood it.

Sarah changed lanes again with much too little space to spare, and drove through the toll plaza, then onto the bridge itself. She must’ve thought she was reassuring him, because she continued, “Besides, even if we did get in a wreck, Volvos are very safe cars.”

“Do not speak to me of wreckage,” Jareth growled through gritted teeth. “I am entirely too aware that only a little plastic shields me from the steel of which this car is built. I have no desire to find out which of its parts would burn through my flesh, if we were wrecked.”

That gave both of the humans pause as they realized exactly why he was so unnerved. Jareth tried closing his eyes as the massive steel cables flashed by outside his window, but that only made him worry more, so he turned his miserable gaze on the doom all around them.

“Maybe we should’ve taken the train,” Toby offered, sounding concerned. “It takes about six hours, but it’s slower. And there’s no other traffic around it.”

“Too late now,” Jareth grumbled. “Besides, I think I should rather get this over with swiftly. Not _too_ swiftly, Sarah, I do not wish to die squashed into jam like a strawberry in this metal death-trap.” She patted his knee, trying to comfort him perhaps, but Jareth wished she’d keep both hands on the wheel.

Just then, a car cut in front of them, into much too narrow a space. Sarah stamped on the brake, throwing him into the seat belt she’d insisted he wear, and followed that action by sounding her horn and snarling a few choice remarks about the sexual practices of the driver who had offended her. Jareth was far too perturbed to point out that she could not justifiably make such an insult when she’d performed the same acts on him, but Toby teased her about her language as if they hadn’t just pulled the very whiskers of death, yet again.

The bridge ended in a warren of echoing concrete tunnels, the noise of all the cars in such a small space making his ears ring and his teeth ache. Jareth did close his eyes then, as every sense he possessed told him he was about to die crushed like an insect, and only his trust in the queen beside him kept him from trying desperately to escape.

That, and the utterly unperturbed boy in the backseat. Toby had no qualms in questioning or calling out things he found suspect. If he could focus on his phone, then perhaps they were not truly in danger.

Or perhaps humans were all delusional. Jareth longed for warm stone, the sound of the wind rustling through the hedge maze, even the smell of the bog was preferable to the burning-oil stench of car exhaust.

It grew quiet, eventually, and after a few moments Sarah said, “We’re on Palisades now. Jersey isn’t my idea of scenic, but at least it’s green. It should be better than the city.”

Jareth looked, and was soothed to see trees and grass and a blue sky above. Even their speed, which was even more reckless than before, was not as horrifying when he could look out at something he understood. Jareth allowed himself to relax a fraction, looking about with some curiosity. He knew, of course, that she spoke of New Jersey, not the the Jersey farmland in England, just as her city and state were called New York after England’s Yorkshire area. “Sarah,” Jareth began questioningly, “You said your parents also live in New York, the state, and we began in New York, the city. Why then are we in New Jersey?”

“Because we crossed the Hudson River where it’s easier,” Sarah said. “Long Island is kinda weird. It hangs out off the coast of Jersey, New York, and Connecticut. Hell, even Rhode Island and the coastal parts of Pennsylvania are closer to Long Island than most of upstate New York.”

Toby perked up then. “Have you ever seen a map of the U.S.? Or like a road atlas or something? I don’t suppose you’d have much call to look at maps here.”

“I am accustomed to generating my own aerial view,” Jareth replied. “I’ve seen maps of your land in passing, but never scrutinized them. Your system of states is rather complicated. Some of the boundaries are arbitrarily drawn, whereas the bounds of our kingdoms usually follow natural lines. And your national government seems rather more involved in the running of individual states than the High King ever is in our realms. Thank the gods.”

“Well, the states aren’t meant to be individual countries,” Toby explained.

“They are sized like countries,” Jareth retorted. “Have you any idea how _vast_ your land is, compared to Europe? No wonder Americans never developed any manners. You could always move away from people who annoyed you. We had not that luxury.”

The ensuing cultural debate kept him occupied for most of the drive. By then, they were in a small town which at least  _looked_ like a plausible Underground town to him, with shops lining the main streets, and wood or brick homes on the side streets. The asphalt street and concrete walks were still ugly, to his eyes, but the homes and their carefully tended yards were pretty enough. Jareth let out a sigh, and shrugged his shoulders to re-settle his metaphorical feathers. Even in this form, even glamoured to look like as ordinary a human as he could bring himself to portray, he still had a few owlish mannerisms. Luckily most of them were far less obtrusive than his angry screech in the midst of traffic.

They parked in the drive of a two-storied home, which Jareth eyed appraisingly. His visits Above were limited both in time and by the necessity to remain somewhat near either the book, or Sarah herself, so he had never bothered to evaluate any real estate here. Thus he could not have guessed the value of the house, or the wealth of its occupants. It hardly mattered. In some ways, such as certain freedoms and leisures, all of Sarah’s people were richer than any but the most highborn fae. And in others, such as magic or any kind of connection to the living world around them, they were all desperately poor.

From what he could see, it was a well-built and neatly-kept home, which meant that they had all the comforts they needed. He could guess that Sarah herself was reasonably comfortable, in terms of finance, and so her parents likely were as well. Still, it would not do to make himself seem incredibly wealthy. Mortals Above tended to get embarrassed by displays of largesse, in this century and this country.

“All right,” Sarah said, blowing out a breath, and he realized she was _nervous_. Whyever for? He thought she’d come to appreciate her father and stepmother more now that she was an adult, and most importantly, not living at home. Jareth looked at her with some surprise as she continued, “Okay. Got the cake, got _you_ glamoured up, we’re all going to pretend this a nice family dinner with my boyfriend whom I’ve known since college, but they’ve never seen because you’ve been overseas the whole time and we only talked online. All right. We can do this.”

“I promise not to say anything about goblins,” Toby said, and when Sarah groaned he added, “Or about you being, you know, queen of fairy kingdom full of said goblins.”

“No displays of magic,” Jareth said. “They won’t know I am anything other than your handsome and slightly eccentric British boyfriend.”

“Slightly?” Toby scoffed, and Jareth mock-glared at him.

For that, the boy had to carry the dessert, and Sarah preceded Jareth up the walkway to the house. The door opened before they arrived, and her stepmother stepped out, looking just as nervous. Jareth had seen glimpses of this woman before, visiting Sarah in his owl form, and age had softened some of her brittleness. But now she looked taut and worried again, and he chose to set her at ease before her tension and Sarah’s could play off one another. “You never told me you had a sister, precious,” he said, stepping forward, and taking the woman’s hand while she still looked surprised. Jareth bowed over it with all ceremony, saying, “Pleased to make your acquaintance, miss.”

Even as Sarah rolled her eyes, the woman laughed at him, the fraught moment breaking at the sound. “You’re a few decades too late for ‘miss’, but thank you,” she said. “I’m Karen. You must be Mr. Kingsley?”

“Unless Sarah has another handsome British man stashed away somewhere, yes,” he replied easily. “I haven’t been in the States long enough to know for certain. Perhaps she collects them.”

“Shut _up_ ,” Sarah groaned, while Toby tried not to laugh inanely.

Karen invited them all inside, hugging Sarah and kissing Toby, who only looked a little embarrassed at this maternal affection. All the while Jareth was assessing the situation, looking for his cues. It evidently hadn’t occurred to either of them that he’d never been  _invited_ to dinner in a mortal home, and had no idea what etiquette demanded of him. As before, at the dryad’s interesting lunch, he adapted to each moment as it came.

Here came Sarah’s father, a stolid and serious-looking man, his cuffs and collar tightly buttoned. He was a lawyer, a profession Sarah had thought she needed to explain, but there were interpreters of law in every court Underground. It was a banal profession, in the truest sense of that word that sounded like an insult, and which only meant that Robert Williams concerned himself with hard, realistic facts, not with fae fancies. A man like this would not just go mad in the Labyrinth; he might destroy himself trying to prove it was not real.

Karen was making the introduction, standing in the foyer, and Jareth clasped Robert’s hand firmly, but not too firmly. Had the other man tried to crush his knuckles, he would’ve been surprised to find himself unable to do so, but it seemed he was not given to such tricks. He shook earnestly, looking intently in Jareth’s eyes as if to spot some falsehood there.

And there were many, many lies to find, but like most honest men he did not know where to look. There was no ill-intent for him to see, and that likely concerned him far more than the absurd reality that he was locking gazes with a fae king. Jareth smiled, telling him, “It’s a pleasure to meet you at last, Mr. Williams.”

“Please, it’s Robert,” he said, his voice even and pleasant. “Come in, have a seat. Karen has dinner just about ready. What would you like to drink?”

Jareth did not know precisely how to answer. Not all mortals drank wine with their dinner, as evinced by Toby’s surprise in being served the same at his sister’s coronation. The safest option was to say lightly, “I will have whatever you’re having, thank you.”

“Cabernet, then,” Robert said. 

They all managed to bustle into the dining room, where Sarah groaned as they were seated. “Oh, Karen, I told you you didn’t have to roll out the silver and china. It’s not a state visit.”

Jareth arched a brow; the table settings did not look unusual to him, but she acted as though these were the sort of dishes reserved for visiting royalty. Karen, meanwhile, smiled nervously. “Sarah, please, nothing less for a guest.”

“I told you it’s no big deal,” Sarah replied, his queen’s expression a mix of fondness and exasperation. “You really didn’t have to go to so much trouble for the two of us.”

“Oh, it’s no trouble, you know that. Sunday dinner should always be an occasion,” Karen demurred. “Robert, will you bring out the roast? I’ll get the veggies. I hope you like scalloped potatoes and broccoli, Mr. Kingsley.”

“Jareth, if you please,” he said, and added with a roguish grin, “I am most delighted by food I need not prepare myself. It will be well enough, I assure you.”

The roast which Robert carried to the table was rack of lamb, its savory scent pervading the air, and Jareth did not need to pretend pleasure at the aroma. The vegetables that followed smelled just as tasty, and he followed Sarah’s example in shaking out his napkin and placing it in his lap. This meal would be a delight.

Karen still seemed rather nervous, hastening to dole out portions of food to everyone while Robert carved the lamb and Sarah poured the wine. “So, what do you do?” Robert asked him.

He and Sarah had planned this in advance, after he met her coworkers and before they even discussed introducing him to her family. The vast number of mortal occupations dizzied him, and they had needed to settle on something he could plausibly fake. “I am a management consultant,” he replied as scripted. At least a century and a half of kingship gave him some qualifications regarding leadership. “In that capacity I was of some use to Sarah’s previous firm, though the one where she now works is quite well-managed enough. Not like some I’ve seen.”

“Sounds interesting,” Robert said. “So you travel around to different companies and help them streamline their management processes, make everything more efficient?”

“And point out what their employees have been saying all along, usually, but they will not listen until an outsider says so, in more expensive words,” Jareth added drolly. “And you are an attorney, correct?”

“Corporate law, right,” Robert replied with the satisfaction of a man well-suited to his work. 

They talked of his business, and Karen’s, for she was a legal secretary. “I used to work for Kader Smith and Williams, Robert’s firm, but back then it was just Kader and Smith,” she explained. “I left when we started dating. You can’t have any kind of impropriety in the legal business, not if you want your clients to trust you.”

“I offered to change firms,” Robert put in. “My name wasn’t on the door yet, I could’ve left just as easily.”

“Well, I found a new job first, and Mr. Kader wanted you to stay on anyway,” Karen replied. She seemed to be relaxing now that Jareth had not turned his nose up at the food, and that was as well.

 

…

 

Sarah thought she might be able to breathe out, finally. Jareth had gotten Dad talking about the job, which was a sure way to get on his good side, and he was nodding or chuckling in all the right places. Toby, meanwhile, was going for seconds already, and that was perfectly normal.

Of course, the talk ebbed eventually, and Karen stepped in with the topic Sarah dreaded. “It’s been quite a long time since Sarah brought one of her boyfriends over for dinner,” she began.

Just that lead-in was enough to make Sarah want to scream. Hadn’t she asked Karen to just act like this was a normal dinner? Maybe _not_ bring up why she was bringing along a boyfriend immediately? Sarah resisted the urge to sigh her frustration loudly, already opening her mouth to change the subject. The last thing she wanted was for this dinner to devolve into a sit-com level joke.

Leave it to her little brother to get there first and get his hit in. “Yeah, not since Barfton,” Toby cut in.

If there was one thing she emphatically did not want to discuss, it was any of her former relationships. Especially not the man who had tried, and failed, to replace the man across from her. Some topics were better saved for privacy. And possible heavy liquor. 

But her father managed to cut the comedy routine before it could get started. “Toby, leave your sister alone about that. Her relationships are  _her_ business,” Robert said warningly, and the boy smirked in Sarah’s direction.

And Sarah knew just what was going through that devious little brain.  _Don’t you even_ _**think** _ _about it, kiddo. You know how much blackmail I have on_ _**you** _ _, too._ The look she cast at him was decided unfriendly. “It’s fine, Dad. Toby is just being a  _child_ . Barton was a nice man, a good man. I really hope he’s happy, wherever he is now. We were just from two different worlds and ended up wanting different things. In the end, he just wasn’t the right one for me.”

“But I most decidedly am,” Jareth said, catching her eye and giving her a slow, warm smile. 

It was so unexpectedly candid, and in this company, that her heart stuttered and she lost her train of thought for an instant. She could only look at him in surprise. When she could speak again, she managed to grumble out, “Hush, you.” 

“Barton really was a wonderful man,” Karen said, always willingly to compliment the underdog, but added, “You’re right, still. He really was one of your most surprising, really, if I’m honest. I couldn’t see you staying with anyone that…”

That was enough to make her grin, knowing where this was going. “Normal?” Sarah supplied, even as Toby put in, “Sane?”

“I was going to say _mild-mannered_ ,” Karen replied, chagrined.

“That would never do,” Jareth told them. “Strength of will and character in a woman demands the same of a man, if he would keep her. And as her parents, I am certain you know just how strong Sarah is. I can only hope to remain her equal.” Sarah shot him a smirk then. Oh, that was triple the points on his charisma card: he managed to compliment her and his prospective future in-laws in the same breath, as well as a subtle one to himself. It was a feat worthy of the Goblin King and not a bit surprising.

Toby, however, didn’t miss a beat. “Well your ego is certainly strong enough.”

“And your determination to be a pest is equally impressive,” Jareth retorted.

Karen looked aghast, while her father shot him his best trademarked  _You Had Better Watch It, Young Man_ look. “Toby, that’s enough,” Robert said, while Sarah rolled her eyes. It was better if they got used to the comedy routine now.

“It’s okay, Dad, these two have been giving each other grief since they met,” she said, cutting Jareth a warning look. “I think they both enjoy it, so let them rip.”

Jareth returned the look with a smile. “Precious, the three men you love best in all the world are sitting at the same table. Be glad that there is so little friction; Toby and I at least are being playful, and I cannot begrudge him his amusement. After all, no one can ever take your father’s place in your heart, but Toby must worry that you may someday choose your lover over your brother.”

She felt her eyes bugging out a little at how casually he dropped both ‘love’ and ‘lover’ into that response, peripherally aware of Karen’s eyebrows going up, but Toby was too quick to respond. “Nah, I’ll always be her brother, even when you finally marry her,” he shot back. “You just better get used to not having your own way  _all_ the time, ‘cause she’s no one’s doormat. I’m just trying to help you out there.”

Any reply Jareth could make was cut off by Robert saying, in a falsely cheerful voice to mask his surprise, “I had no idea we were discussing marriage already. But then, Sarah, I see you have two new rings, and one of them’s on your left hand.”

It took a moment to process what her father was saying, still glowering at her obnoxious baby brother when he had spoken. Her gaze going to him with a confused frown, her eyes lit on Karen and the look of amazed but gleeful shock her face, and she could feel the horror dawn on her. That lead to a disbelieving look at the hand rested curled around her wineglass and the gleaming opal ring there.  _Oh_ _**shiiiit.** _ She and Jareth locked eyes, both sets widening in surprise as they thought in unison,  _We forgot to glamour the engagement ring!_

 

 


	40. Eyes on the Future

Sarah hadn’t actually heard Karen  _yelp_ with delight, until that moment when her gaze finally landed on the ring on Sarah’s left hand. Meanwhile Toby had dissolved into laughter at the looks on their faces, and Jareth was snarling under his breath at the boy. The chaos eventually subsided when Robert rapped his fork against his wineglass repeatedly. “All right then,” he said, glaring at Toby until he choked off the last giggles. “So, you two  _are_ engaged?”

“Yes,” Jareth said, and Sarah chipped his ankle for it. They hadn’t discussed breaking the news to her parents, because they were _supposed_ to keep it under wraps for a while. But Toby had been on the verge of blowing _that_. It wasn’t his fault, though, and Sarah was mentally kicking herself for being so stupid. She’d worried about everything relating to this dinner, and with Jareth’s freakout in the car adding to her concerns, she’d completely forgotten about the ring. The very same ring that had so upset Della, and she should’ve _known_ better, she should’ve had him glamour it right then. 

“Congratulations,” Karen said warmly, ignoring the look Robert shot at her. She did turn a surprised-yet-concerned look on Sarah, and added, “Isn’t this … a little … sudden?”

“Not entirely,” Sarah managed to reply, seizing her chance to set the story before Jareth could. He didn’t know her parents, or what would mollify them best. “We’ve known each other a long time; since I was right out of college, actually, but we’d only met in person like twice. He’s been living overseas and we kept it to email and IM. I broke it off for a while, because of Barton, and after _that_ went south I just … gave up on dating for a while.”

Jareth cut in smoothly. “We chanced to encounter each other again during one of her recent cases, and after some discussion, decided to make a go of it. Since I am able to travel here occasionally, it will be easier this time. And quite frankly, I did not intend to be so great a fool as to let her drift away again. Once we were both certain of each other, I saw no reason to delay.”

Sarah managed not to snort at the liberties he was taking with the truth. Her second run through the Labyrinth was one  _hell_ of a ‘discussion’, particularly how it ended. “We’ve been seeing each other in person for a month or so,” Sarah added. “I didn’t say anything because I didn’t want you guys to freak out.”

“Yeah, Sarah the marriage-hater goes and accepts a ring from an older British guy, that wouldn’t freak anyone out, Sare,” Toby laughed. 

He was  _enjoying_ her discomfiture, the little brat! Sarah narrowed her eyes, and asked sweetly, “Older, huh? You want me to tell them all about the girl  _you_ thought was so drop-dead gorgeous?”

Toby sat up like he’d been stung. “Hey, leave me out of that!”

“What girl?” Karen said, looking keenly at her son.

Jareth interrupted before Toby or Sarah could say anything. “A family member of mine. She’s quite happily married, with no intentions of coming to New York. If you saw a photograph of her, you would understand why Toby was impressed, but it has no bearing on this other than sibling in-fighting. It’s nothing, I assure you.”

Sarah felt a little wash of something in the air, some kind of magic perhaps, and Karen and Robert both simultaneously decided to ignore the topic of Toby’s crush. Which, yes, had been entirely mean-spirited of her, but clearly Toby couldn’t resist making her life difficult on this score.

Robert was looking at her then,his expression tense. He clearly wanted to be happy but still worried. “Are you sure, Sarah?”

“Dad, at this point, I’d better be,” she replied honestly. “You know me. I wouldn’t take a ring from _anybody_ , no matter how good-looking or how titled, unless I was damn sure he’s the one I want. And this jackass, despite himself, is the one.”

Jareth only smirked at her. “I do so love your pet names for me, precious.”

Toby snorted laughter again, while she glared at Jareth. “Shut it, you,” Sarah growled, and he only smiled.

“So you’re really getting married,” Karen said, her voice sounding dreamy.

Jareth put up a hand to forestall any further speculation. “It is going to be a very long engagement,” he said. “Once we are wed, my family will expect Sarah to move to our country on a more permanent basis. Staying engaged shows our commitment without forcing us to take such drastic measures so soon.”

_Okay, point, I guess Umardelin_ _**is** _ _considered family,_ Sarah thought. “And yeah, the downside is that if I marry him, I’m going to have to leave New York and take citizenship overseas,” she said, aware that only she could tell certain parts of it. Jareth could bend the truth back and forth like a silly straw, but he couldn’t break it. Only she could outright lie.

“So the marriage itself is comfortably far in the future,” Jareth continued. “For as much as I might like to steal Sarah away to my castle, she has too many commitments here to do allow me to do so just yet.”

Robert and Karen both looked rather nonplussed at that, and Sarah realized they’d only heard one word in the statement when Karen said slowly, “You have a  _castle_ ?”

Sarah dropped her head in her hands and groaned. “Can I go back in time and shoot Walt Disney?” she muttered plaintively.

Jareth patted her shoulder, smirking. “I managed handsome and charming. Forgive me for not being an actual prince, precious.” She could only glare at him while he grinned, his words at the end of her first run coming back to her.  _Other women have to settle for a mere prince to bed and wed, happily ever after._ _**You** _ _get a king._

Taking the opportunity to change the subject, Sarah sighed heavily and asked pointedly, “So, Dad, how have things been at work lately? Tobe told me you have a really big case in the works.”

Another touch of magic backed her up, and Robert brightened at that. Although Sarah knew the next half hour was likely to be almost incomprehensible to anyone with less than a decade’s study of corporate law, it at least got his and Karen’s minds off the prospect of planning a wedding.

 

…

 

Back in New York City, people were trickling into Imperiale. Sunday night wasn’t as crowded as Friday and Saturday, but it still did good business. Alix was up above it all, elbows on the rail, listening to the music and feeling its pulse in the humans below.

Colleen rolled up beside her, the aluminum frame of her chair coming to a rest a hair’s-breadth from the rail. Alix had tried steering the thing once, out of curiosity, and earned a new level of respect for her merrow. Anyone who could manage to be deft and graceful on wheels, when nature meant her for a life in the water, deserved that much and more.

They stood in companionable silence for a while, until Ojore joined them. The African fae took his place on Alix’s other side, leaving the dryad bracketed by her two oldest allies. She gave him a slight smile, then returned to watching the dance floor.

Colleen broke the silence. “So we’re doing this, then? With Umardelin’s help?”

“They offered, I haven’t accepted,” Alix said. “They know what we want. And there are wild lands aplenty near Umardelin.”

“It would not hurt to have powerful neighbors, if they are friends,” Ojore said thoughtfully. “I do not think either of them means to slight us. And there is Etaron to consider, as well.”

“I will not take Etaron’s charity,” Alix said sharply.

Ojore looked down at her. He was a kind of dryad himself, a tree spirit anyway, though African mythology was very different from Greco-Roman. “It is not charity. She gave offense, and seeks to make amends.”

Alix shifted uncomfortably. “Truly, she never intended any ill. I know that, little as I can see it when she’s standing in front of me. I  _took_ offense, she gave none. And she wrote me a blank check of an apology that would leave us owing her. I won’t have that.”

“We didn’t want to play politics with any of them,” Colleen began. “But if we’re going to, Alix, why is Umardelin any better than Etaron?”

The dryad sighed and tipped her head back, letting her wavy green hair spill loose down her back. “Because I’ve been of assistance to Umardelin’s queen. Sarah, I trust. Not so much Jareth, but he seems all right. For a king. That makes Umardelin an acceptable risk, and I am as eager as you are to bring this to a conclusion. But Etaron … Etaron is an old kingdom, and I don’t know how traditional they are.”

Traditional, to the low fae, meant discriminatory. Perhaps even dangerous. Colleen worried at her lower lip. “Before I got mixed up with the rebels, I never heard any ill of Etaron. They’re not on the coast, but the river nymphs always kept us appraised of problems. If they were the kind we should fear, I would know.”

Ojore sighed. “Alix, you know we two do not lightly criticize you. We have been at your side the longest, and neither of us will ever desert you, come what may. It would be no dishonor to die at your side.”

“I won’t let it come to that,” Alix said softly, shaking her head.

He wasn’t finished. “But where the Queen of Etaron is concerned, you know you are not rational. Please, listen to us. We have no reason to mislead you.”

Alix stood up straight, and felt them both stiffen beside her. She kept her voice mild. “Neither of you have _met_ her, either. Ojore, you’ve never even dealt with the Celtic fae of the high courts. Remember their High King, who is of _her_ kind, was willing to slaughter legions of your people, to assassinate as many kings as need be, until you _all_ accepted his rule. They are a ruthless breed. I would not deal with them unless my hand is forced. And that, my very good friends, is _final_. Unless you choose to go behind my back and act in defiance of my wishes, we will not treat with Etaron.”

There was a pause, and then Ojore said quietly, “I do not forget my brothers’ blood, shed in the wars of kings who never bothered to even count our deaths. Nor will I defy you, Alix. I owe you my life and honor. I would sooner linger here a thousand years than stain my loyalty to you, even if I were proven right.”

Alix placed her pale slender hand on his strong forearm. “I know, my friend. I do not think you would do so. But I cannot leave open the door of possibility.” He covered her hand in his, gently, acknowledging her unspoken apology.

That left Colleen, and she winced. “Alix … are we not ruthless, in our way? Didn’t you seek out Sarah when you felt her presence, and lure her in like an anglerfish? The fact that you like her doesn’t mean we aren’t definitely benefiting from her friendship with you.”

The dryad smiled. “Sarah herself is ruthless as only a human can be. Who do you think inspired the High King, if not humans and their wars of conquest? Yes, I like Sarah more than I meant to. And she is honorable to a fault, as long as you don’t threaten someone or something she cares deeply about. Do that, and you’ll find there’s steel in her.”

Alix paused, thoughtful. “I could not let a power such as she is walk past without investigation. And yes, I would have used her, very gently, but my lessons in magic were meant to be bartered. Now I have seen inside her mind and heart, as she has seen mine, and we walked away still friends. _She_ does not think I’m using her, even when she knows that was on my mind when we first met. Not when she sees benefit to herself in our friendship, and that our cause is righteous. That last is of most importance to her. If we were not honorable, if we had nefarious plans for her and her kingdom, she’d have struck at me the other night when she was here, and damn the consequences.”

Colleen worried at her lip, thinking. “We’re already playing a tense game for high stakes, Alix. Why is it that Sarah can be swayed by righteousness, and not Cadelinyth?”

At that name, Alix flinched, trying to control the reaction and failing. “You know better than to say her name,” she scolded. “I damned sure don’t want her showing up _here_. Perhaps she is, and she makes common cause with her low fae subjects, and rules with wisdom and mercy like the queens in stories for children. But perhaps she _isn’t_. And I won’t take that risk.” She turned to fully face the merrow, and her caprine eyes were narrowed to slits. “I said it was final, Colleen. Do you of all people doubt the danger of the high fae?”

The merrow arched her back, her tail rising so the stiff fin curled up. There was a deep, ragged notch on the left side. “By this, I know damned well how dangerous they are,” she replied hotly. “There’s still a bounty on these fins, I’m still an outlaw, and I dare not swim Underground until I have citizenship to protect me. _Your_ citizen, you stubborn stick, if I meant to follow anyone else, ever again, I’d try my luck in Umardelin or Etaron.

“But Ojore is right – you do not see clearly when she’s involved. I know _why,_ Alix, don’t glare at me like that. Your rage masks your vision more surely than cuttle-ink. And it scares the hell out of me that the one I trust to lead me is swimming half-blind up a dangerous current!”

Alix ground her teeth, but stilled her tongue. Colleen was more frightened than angry _or_ defiant, and she had cause. Whenever the dryad so much as thought of Etaron’s queen, a red veil came down over her mind, and the worst of it was that she _knew_ her hatred was not justified. And even as she struggled with the rage she’d kept banked for over six decades, Ojore still held her hand in his, a quiet strength trusting her no matter what she decided.

Their trust in her humbled her enough to let the anger pass, for now. By all the gods, she would _not_ betray her people, would not use them as callously as she had once been used. And listening to them, even when they defied her, was part of her responsibility to them.

“Fine,” she said at last. “Never let it be said that a willow cannot bend. If she offers to aid us thrice, with no obligation, I will take her up on it. And pray that our impatience doesn’t doom us all. Is that enough for you, Colleen?”

“More than enough. I would not argue with you if I didn’t love you, Alix.” So saying, the merrow took her other hand and kissed the backs of her knuckles. The gesture, one of ritual submission, turned Alix’s stomach much the way that being bowed to turned Sarah’s. Unlike Umardelin’s queen, she didn’t let it show in her expression.

Instead she kissed the top of Colleen’s head, murmuring, “I love you too, you pesky fish. Gods alone know where I’d be without you and Ojore.”

“Somewhere much like this, but not so handsomely guarded,” the African fae replied, and both women stared at him before breaking into laughter. He only grinned at them, glad to lighten the atmosphere.

All of them knew that things were changing. To Alix and Ojore, it felt like the first trickles of earth that signal a landslide; to Colleen, it was the glassy calm before a mighty storm. After sixty years of carefully, patiently cultivating followers and gathering strength, Alix had made an ally who could tap powers unheard of Above. And that meant that sooner rather than later, they would be looking to found their _own_ kingdom.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We are almost at the close of this fic. We hope you've enjoyed this wild, rollicking ride of a story, and will join us again in Like a Raging Storm. That said, expect a bit of delay between fics - we're going to try to hammer some things out in our other fandom, and get some work done on original stuff as well. Alone Among the Wreck will continue posting pretty much weekly, though. We can't turn our backs on Jareth's world completely.


	41. In the Depths of Night

Far away in Galeraessian, a certain blond minstrel sat up from the princess’ bed, shoving his thoroughly tousled hair back from his eyes. He was panting with exertion, but trying to keep his noisy breathing quiet, because it looked as if Princess Lyselle had finally succumbed to exhaustion. Perhaps now he could make his escape. He’d had enthusiastic lovers before, but this night with her had reminded him uncomfortably of the time he’d seen a rabbit caught up in a threshing machine.

He slipped from the bed, dressed in quiet haste, and picked up his shoes and his gittern. Tiptoeing toward the door, he finally felt safe… 

She spoke, from the bed behind him, and her voice was barbed frost. “Wherever do you think you’re going, Jareth?”

His name was Agrayni. She’d been calling him Jareth since she tossed his instrument carelessly aside and slipped into his lap, and he hadn’t argued with that. One did not quarrel with royals, not in Galeraessian. So he bowed, and said in honeyed tones that did not betray his racing heart, “The hour grows so late that it has become early, my lady princess. I seek to freshen myself, to be more worthy of your sight – though I can never truly be worthy – and to ask that breakfast be brought up to us.”

He thought he’d struck the right note of solicitation and obsequiousness, but her eyes narrowed and his heart plummeted. “Breakfast? You think I want half the castle staff to know I warmed my bed with a pitiful rag like you? Braggart, you are not worth the time it would take to magic you into a toad.”

She didn’t have that power … did she? He groveled, abjectly, bowing until his face touched the floor. “No, Princess Lyselle, of course not. That is why I would bathe first. I am a minstrel, it is my task to soothe you to slumber with restful songs, that you slept poorly is all anyone would guess if I remained here until dawn. None could imagine that so lowly a man as I would ever be desirable in your eyes.”

“Is _that_ what you think you are to me. Desirable.” Her voice was flat, making the question a statement. Agrayni swallowed; last night she had been lovely, graceful, her violet hair flowing like a waterfall, her voice sparkling flirtatiously. Now, her mouth turned down in a cruelly graven line, and her eyes … her eyes were not sane. They flared red in the darkness, and Agrayni remembered that he’d gotten this post because the last three minstrels had left the kingdom, singing praises for their generous benefactress.

It was time he left, too, and no petitioning the king or queen for permission, either. Time to change his name, cut and dye his hair, and climb the wall some midnight. A good singer could find a place in any kingdom, and though he was not the best of his kind, he would not starve.

He could not think of that now. If she saw it in his face or heard it in his voice, Lyselle would be outraged, and a princess’ outrage could be dangerous for a lowborn minstrel. Instead he bowed again. “Of course not, Princess. I am not desirable. I am a mere man, with a little skill at song, no one of any consequence.”

“Then why were you in my bed?” she asked him, and a glance showed him a vicious smile. “Perhaps I ought to call the guards. Surely I would not want such as you, Jareth.”

Oh gods, she was truly mad – and worse, capricious. “My lady, I was in your bed for the same reason a true bed-warmer is placed beneath the sheets on a cold night,” he said fervently. If he challenged her, at all, she’d turn on him. “The same reason a lamp hangs at your bedside, or a brush sits on your table. To be used, at your need.”

Lyselle laughed and clapped her hands like a child at a particularly charming party trick. “Very good! You exist to be used. You mean no more to me than a hairbrush. That is lovely, most lovely.”

“You are too kind, Princess,” he murmured, praying for an excuse to leave.

“Perhaps I am,” she replied, and he began to sweat from fear. “Surely I’ve shown too much favor to a half-talented minstrel.”

“I am unworthy, but your kindness is the mark of your royal birth,” he said, almost stumbling over the words.

“ _Command_ is the mark of my royal birth,” she told him, rising from the bed and padding barefoot over to him. It was almost enough to make him burst into wild laughter, that he should be shivering in terror from a beautiful naked woman a handspan shorter than himself, but she was a princess. She needed no weapon, nor even magic, to destroy him.

And she knew it, as proved by her next words. “Compose me a song, minstrel,” she demanded, her arms crossed imperiously. “Make a song of how beautiful and good and kind I am, and how lowly a worm you are to even sing of me. If it pleases me, Jareth, you may go forth with gold in your pocket.”

She snapped her fingers, and a chair skidded across the floor to stop just behind her. Lyselle took her seat like a queen taking her throne, and continued, “If it does not please me, I shall call the guards and tell them you took liberties.  _ If _ you leave alive after that, it will be with your own balls in your pocket. And the mark of a rapist branded on your face. More likely, my father will have you hung in a gibbet outside the walls, to die slowly as the raven peck out your eyes. A fair enough bargain, wouldn’t you say?”

A deep chill crept over him, and Agrayni breathed silent thanks to his old master, who’d drummed speed-composition into him. The old man likely hadn’t even needed it in a situation like this, but a minstrel who couldn’t compose a song to his hosts on the spot was worthless, he’d said.

“More fair than I deserve, Princess,” he told her, and sat up a little, his nose wrinkling at the smell of himself. Last night’s wine, sex, and the stink of fear-sweat were an unlovely combination … much like the slender legs of a beautiful woman, who would be just as pleased to hear him scream for mercy as to hear him sing her praises.

“Then sing, Jareth,” she said prettily. “Sing for your life.”

Strumming his gittern, he spared a thought for this Jareth, and hoped whoever that man was, he was far out of Galeraessian’s reach.

 

…

 

The stars shone in Umardelin, and Sarah leaned against the balcony, letting the breeze waft her hair back from her face as she reflected on the past day. She’d woken from a thin and dream-filled sleep, deciding to go stand on the balcony for a bit and let the wind blow the cobwebs out of her mind. Since it was their private balcony, and the middle of the night, she hadn’t bothered to find the nightgown that Jareth had slipped her out of with such ardor a few hours ago, and simply walked out nude, comfortable in her own skin.

Sunday dinner had come to an equable conclusion, Jareth had shaken hands with her father and bowed over Karen’s hand charmingly, but he had _not_ ridden back to New York with her. One near-death experience per day was sufficient, he’d told her, and popped out of existence as soon as they were out of sight of the house.

She’d had that ride home to herself, to think about the turns her life had taken and muse on the road ahead, which led to much stranger places than New Jersey. Sarah had skipped becoming the princess she’d always dreamed of being, and leapt straight into becoming Queen, complete with crown. She’d skipped fairytale romance and dove into bed with a King, and now wore his ring – as he wore a matching one that declared his own status as very definitely ‘taken’.

Sarah had to chuckle. It was so very _her_ , to do things out of order, to skip ahead to the ‘good’ bits, which were also the challenging and difficult bits. She was going to learn to rule a kingdom _part-time_ , while also learning the magic that now wove itself around her. She was going to live a very long time, if all went well, but she couldn’t help her very human impatience to get _good_ at magic, and rulership, right away.

And good at relationships, too, because the man asleep in the bed behind had made it abundantly clear that he wasn’t going anywhere. She had to figure this out, and so did he, make it work between them, because they were far too bound up to let go of each other.

That thought might once have haunted her with an image of chains locking her down to someone else’s expectations. All Jareth expected of her was that she would be magnificent, and turn his world upside down frequently. He loved her for her, quick temper and all, and she loved him for his arrogance, too, no matter how she bristled at it.

The night breeze kissed her bare skin with the faint scent of the forest, moss and oak leaves and secret things, and Sarah closed her eyes and drank it in. The starlight gave way to a rising moon that bathed her in its glow, and she felt her body thrill to that, to being naked under this sky, cool stone beneath her feet and under her hands on the railing. It felt daring, true, but mostly it felt like _home_.

“You look most tempting, precious,” Jareth murmured behind her, and she turned to see the moonlight flaring opalescent in his eyes. “Like a goddess of the moon descending to my balcony, to bless me with your favor.”

She could’ve said something romantic back to him, flirty or frankly sexual even, but instead Sarah laughed softly. “Look, I _just_ upgraded to Queen, let me get used to that before you promote me to godhood, okay?”

Jareth laughed too, and came to her, nude as she was. Between them, all they wore were four rings and one necklace. He wrapped his arms around her, for once more loving than desiring, and nuzzled her temple affectionately. “You are a delight, whether mortal or goddess, social worker or queen. You are my Sarah, my Sarai, my love, and there is no one in all the worlds who could replace you.”

“Keep thinking that,” she told him, kissing the line of his jaw … and then nipping his neck playfully. “But watch that ‘my’ business, Jareth. I’m only yours the same way you are mine. The day you start thinking you own me is the day I kick your ass to Etaron and back.”

He tightened his embrace. “No man _owns_ you, Sarah. I am not so great a fool as to assume that much. At least, no longer. Perhaps when you first ran this Labyrinth, but you swiftly disabused me of the notion that I had or ever will have any _real_ power over you.”

For once in their lives, he didn’t bother to make a sex joke out of that, and Sarah squeezed him tightly. “Yeah, well, it doesn’t need to be about power over each other, anyway. We have more power together than we ever would if we just tried to control each other. And … I’m glad it’s you at my side, Jareth.”

“As I am glad that you are the one who rules beside me,” he told her, stepping back just enough that both of them could look out over their moonlit kingdom.

Sarah sighed, leaning against him. “With everything that’s happened, everything we’ve gone through … what happens next?”

Jareth kissed her hair. When he spoke, his voice was low and thoughtful. “I do not know, precious. I only know that we shall face it together … and be the better for it.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, readers, this concludes And My Kingdom as Great. It's been one helluva fun ride, and we are so grateful to all of you who have read, and especially those who've commented. Comments are muse-fuel. Thank you all for sticking with us through forty-one chapters.
> 
> And yes, there WILL be a sequel (if not two sequels). We already have some preliminary work done on Like a Raging Storm, but it will be a while before we start posting. If you need us, we'll be working on the prequel fic Alone Among the Wreck, and on a long-delayed DC fic that's nearly complete and just needs to be polished and posted.
> 
> We shall return. We can't leave you wondering what happens next for TOO long, after all!
> 
> Thank you again for reading - we love you!


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